


Ocularity

by creative_frequency



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Events during the game, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Non-Chronological, Reader is Hank's niece, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Uncle-Niece Relationship, events before the game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creative_frequency/pseuds/creative_frequency
Summary: Ocularity - Noun. (uncountable) A measure of the number of eyes needed to see something.As a doctor of artificial intelligence engineering working for CyberLife, you’re tasked with the initialization of the new RK-series prototype.





	1. Oct 29th 11:47 AM

**Author's Note:**

> Find all my writings at [creative-frequency.tumblr.com](http://creative-frequency.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

### October 29th 11:47 AM

_What do you think about androids?_  
You, 11:47 AM

Even in 2038, there are certain procedures one should go through before bringing up laden themes such as the existence of androids and their impact to the society. Usually the process starts with your name and occupation – a step you half-skip with every new social encounter depending on its objective – then moves forward to a summarized biography and onwards from there to freely chosen other _light_ topics.

Deviating from the norm always rings the instinctive alarm bells of the average human. This is something you learned from your previous “tests”. There is no real reason why you label these relatively potential dating partners as such. Without putting any deeper thought into it, it was just easier to use familiar terminology in foreign territory.

Besides, they will never know you _numbered_ them.

The cheerful clink from your phone marks the failure or success of test number nine.

_They have their uses but I’ve seen enough scifi movies. You like movies?  
_ Nine, 11:49 AM

Your stomach drops and you sigh. Mister Nine is deviating from your standards and it is time to archive his messages. Maybe send a half-assed apology after a few days. That usually does it. You might seriously have to start wondering if dating chat apps are the best way to do research.

The person in front of you steps aside. You hastily put your phone away and face the android behind the counter. She is an ST300, a popular model designed as a receptionist for both public and private instances. The city of Detroit owns hundreds of them.

You look for a name tag, but are not surprised to find the lack of it. Androids in public services aren’t usually named.

“How can I help you?” she greets you in a warm, friendly voice – the kind that makes you feel comfortable and almost forget about the disappointment with mister Nine. It’s been months already and you haven’t made any progress.

“I’m here to meet Captain Fowler.” Despite all your best efforts to form a convincing relaxed smile, you’re painfully aware of the aching in your cheek muscles.

“Do you have an ID?”

“Here you go.” You show her your driver’s license to be scanned.

The android’s LED flickers in yellow before her friendly smile makes you stop trying to keep up yours entirely. Just thinking about how she has to be social and serve people all day makes you mentally exhausted.

“The Captain’s office is straight ahead and left from the gates. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you.”

You turn to head for the gates another android model is guarding, but the open television in the lobby catches your eye. You decide to give the ongoing newscast a few seconds of your attention.

_“Several warning shots were exchanged, apparently with no damage or casualties to either side. The Minister for Defense, Denis Riggs, has spoken of––”_

The concern for the current global political situation is marked in the creased brows of each viewer next to you. Everyone knows what the worst case scenario is, but no one wants to think about it.

You tear your eyes away from the screen and realize the android guard is looking at you the same way she stares at everyone nearing the gates – with expressionless judgment, definitely scanning you for basic information like your name, occupation, date of birth and criminal record. Then she logs the information on all visitors to keep records of the station’s traffic.

You walk through the gate and pause to look around you, not particularly trying to catch anyone’s attention.

At first glance the inside of the police department consists mostly of an open area and a glass box – the Captain’s office – looking over the diligent officers working hard on their desk terminals. Captain Fowler is sitting behind the terminal at his desk, fingers tapping on the keyboard. You’ve seen only pictures of the man beforehand and he looks like he doesn’t know how to smile. That must be the cost of safeguarding the city.

You scan the people in the hall, not sure if you want to find the perfect distraction from the test result anymore. Technically that distraction is one of the reasons you’re in there, but you thought you would be facing the situation in an entirely different mood.

The disappointment with Mister Nine is still mildly pounding inside you, nagging at the back of your mind. There certainly would’ve been better conditions for terminating the test, but you were certain he would be the first one to reach stage two. Whatever that would’ve been.

You’re a bit early to the meeting with the Captain, but on purpose that becomes manifest when you hear a familiar gruff voice.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

A groan of embarrassment and frustration forms in your throat. The officer sitting right next to you by the hallway looks up with raised brows.

You make a beeline to your uncle, Hank Anderson, and the confused android who is only trying his best to cope with him.

You’re too far away to hear what they’re speaking about, but you almost jump when Hank slams his hands on the desk. He lifts the android by the collar and throws him onto the wall, making the LED blink red momentarily.

“Hank–!” you yelp after running the last few steps and interrupt whatever he is spitting at the android’s face. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Time slows when your gaze shifts into the brown eyes staring at your uncle. The LED on the android’s temple is blinking and whirling a safe blue again, but his face is expressionless. For a moment you lose the ability to be mad or speak, so you just take in the familiar features: The cheekbones, the jawline, the strand of dark hair dangling on his forehead – everything looks _exactly_ the same. The thought in itself is a ridiculous one and you of all people should know that. Androids don’t age or change externally, not to mention the ability of some models to change their hair color out of few options.

Hank lets go and turns to you, looking like a child about to get scolded, but he is going to need to wait. You’re still processing the sight of the RK800 prototype before you, fixing his tie. He is not just any prototype. He is the first and the only one you have initialized into this world two and half months ago.

“It’s good to see you, Connor. It’s been a while.”

You force the words out even though your throat feels constricted. “A while” means the last time you saw him was when he was falling down from the 70th floor. It’s difficult to try to smile or act natural because you have no idea what the norm is anymore.

Androids have it easier. They just follow their programming. No contradicting emotions or pesky feelings.

The memories flash before your eyes – memories Connor doesn’t share anymore thanks to insane luck or cruel fate. You haven’t been able to decide which one yet. It’s easy to push back the yearning in your heart when he looks at you, completely void of real emotion.

You notice his LED swirls in yellow before settling.

“Oh, hello, Doctor. Are you here to see the Captain?” Connor says.

It’s the gentle, pleasing tone he uses in everyday conversation. You hate yourself for labeling it in your mind, but old habits die hard.

Hank steps in front of you, shaking his head and hands in the air to stop the scene playing out. “Now hold a moment! You know each other? Jesus fucking–”

Leave it to Hank to pull your head out of the clouds.

You fold your arms on your chest and fixate the best glare you can pull in your current emotional state on him.

“Is there a reason you were trying to damage _him_?” You nod towards Connor. You try to sound stern but can’t hold back the hint of a smile. The smile on Hank’s face is growing by the second and you see a glimpse of the uncle who used to be the life of children’s birthday parties.

“I don’t even get a hello?” He spreads his arms and squeezes you into a quick, tight hug. He smells less like alcohol than on the last time you met.

“How’ve you been?” you ask and examine the lines on Hank’s face and the grey tint in his hair. It’s been longer than you thought. Maybe it’s a good thing Connor was designated to become his partner even without your influence.

Hank shrugs and lets out an unintelligible groan. “Same old, I guess,” he says dismissively. Nothing to report then.

“I suspected you were related to the Lieutenant,” Connor says matter-of-factly.

You raise a brow. “ _Suspected_? Why didn’t you check?”

Even Hank is curious enough to reluctantly let the android slightly into your circle so Connor doesn’t have to talk from behind him.

“That would require for you to be relevant to the case, which you aren’t.”

And you thank all the deities on Earth and beyond for that. “I see. Well, now you know then.”

Hank scoffs. “Androids…” he mumbles under his breath.

You glance at the time on your phone and then at the Captain’s office. Fowler is still invested in staring at the terminal and looking pissed. You can’t remember a single word of the speech you have prepared that will hopefully convince the Captain that Connor will be nothing but an asset to the Detroit City Police Department.

“I better get going.” You nod towards the glass cube. “Connor, when you have the chance, come by my place and we’ll set up the protocol.”

His LED swirls once in brighter blue. “Of course, Doctor.”

Hank looks at you from under his brows, hands folded on his chest, but doesn’t comment. It’s evident how much he is holding back and biting his tongue. He doesn’t like androids, but you hope that the experience of working with Connor will help open his mind at least a little bit.

“I look forward to working with you, Lieutenant Anderson,” you jest.

“Sheesh, kid. You sound just like him.” Hank’s eyes roll towards Connor. “ _Doctor Anderson_ ,” he mutters.

You flash your uncle an impish smile and let go of the chance to tease him more. He smiles back and you have a good feeling about the future. Connor is in good hands with him.

You’ve already turned to leave when Hank hesitates a second and speaks.

“Hey, uhh, you wanna go grab some lunch after that? To catch up?”

You glance at Connor. He is waiting patiently by Hank’s side like being an outsider in the conversation couldn’t bother him less – just like it shouldn’t. He looks human and most of the time acts like one, but you know there is no way a machine could ever replace a real, living human being. Your thoughts stray to the text message you left on read.

“Sorry, uncle, but I gotta go back to the office afterwards. So – rain check?”

Hank nods. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

_Who doesn’t? Have you seen After Mankind?  
_ You, 12:03 AM


	2. Aug 15th 08:22 AM

**From:** Ethan Wilson  
**To:** You  
**Subject:** Fw: RK800

Good luck. Make us proud.

\- Ethan

\----------------

Dear Dr. Wilson,

We are pleased to inform you that we have chosen Dr. Anderson to manage the initiation of the new RK800-model. Mark I will be assembled on August 15th at 8:00 AM.

This decision was reached thanks to your high recommendations as her direct superior and the satisfied feedback from our clients concerning her work. We look forward to following her co-operation with the new prototype.

Please forward this information to Dr. Anderson.

Sincerely,

––

The message content is followed by the full list of CyberLife’s board members. You have read the e-mail over and over at least fifteen times and still can’t believe it’s true.

The new RK-model – the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever created – is about to become your responsibility.

 

### August 15th 08:22 AM

You stifle a yawn and fold your hands over your chest in a sorry attempt at warming yourself. The mornings haven’t grown cool yet, but thanks to the effective air conditioning inside, you shiver slightly. You ran out of tea several minutes ago and its heating effect is fading. Slow minutes pass by in silence.

The operator sits in the only chair of the brightly lit monitoring room. His name is Dave, or Daniel, or something similar. You think you have met him before, but working for one of the largest companies on the continent means you have a countless amount of colleagues just on Belle Isle. There are at least three Daves working for CyberLife you can remember off the top of your head.

The operator’s eyes are trained on the camera feed of the assembly line right ahead. At each weave and tiny motion of his fingers, the large robot hands move, inch by inch, piece by piece, fitting cutting-edge tech biocomponents inside a male android’s torso. Manufacturing a new android model requires precision. The biocomponents are often not as easily fitted into the frame as in the mass-produced models.

You can see the white 3D-printed limbs dangling in the air, waiting to be attached. It has been over twenty minutes already and you don’t dare to ask how the operator is doing or how long it will still take.

Admittedly, you are impatient. The opportunity is amazing. Until now you have been only working with existing prototypes, mostly of the RK-series. You have been present at many initialization tests, but have never been given the responsibility of taking the lead in one.

The RK800 is the most interesting prototype you have come across so far as it’s designed for police work – not just as an unarmed guard or patrol android, but as the first line response to human life-threatening situations. The list of features and abilities is certainly the most impressive one you’ve seen in a prototype before.

So _impressive_ that you fell asleep halfway through reading it and decided to get to know the prototype in person instead of on paper.

The datapad containing the planned testing schedule is tucked under your arm. The file is ridiculously long and exhaustive, but that only shows how much expectations are piled on the new model, and on you by extension.

“Almost there…”

Your weight shifts carefully from left to right leg. If there would be any other noise than the low buzzing of the assembly robot, you wouldn’t hear the operator mumbling to himself. You have to admire his focus on the delicate task.

A small eternity later, the blue glow inside the android’s torso starts pulsing steadily, the eyes in the white skull flicker. The synthetic heart, the Thirium pump, is spreading life force into the other biocomponents and the prototype slowly starts to wake up.

“Alright. You can talk to it now,” the operator says.

You hum in reply, looking with indefinite fascination as the pure white limbs are carefully snapped into their sockets. They instantly take to action, move around in the air and execute the built-in proprioceptive tests while the assembly robot is still welding the seams.

“Can you hear me?” you ask in a clear voice.

The android’s eyes, that turn out to be milk chocolate brown, blink a few times.

“Yes.”

Skin starts to grow from his temples, revealing a light tone, and quickly grows into short dark brown hair. It’s the first time you see the prototype’s design and there is only one thought running through your mind.

_He is beautiful._

You’re so taken aback by the sight that you completely forget the follow-up question you were about to voice.

It’s as if someone hacked your mind and sculpted the face of your deepest fantasies. He is the definition of “your type” and you simply can’t find enough shame to deny it from yourself. Each curve of his features is perfect. _He_ is perfect. Your heart rate is increasing and with each beat it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pass it off as excitement from the new assignment.

No one has ever before crossed the uncanny valley of your mind in such a leap.

The android spreads his arms in a more controlled motion, looking around the shiny new limbs that are gradually covering with artificial skin mask, and waits for instructions.

“State your model and run a diagnostic,” the operator says.

“Model RK800, serial number 313 248 317 – 51.” The android’s eyes flicker closed for a second and his LED flashes in blue. “All systems fully operational.” His voice is calm, pleasant. Maybe even a little husky due to the new voice module being activated for the first time.

“RK800, register your name.”

The operator looks at you expectantly. You spend a few seconds inspecting the android before choosing from the options you’ve been given.

“Connor.”

“My name is Connor,” the android repeats, just like you’ve heard hundreds of them say in their exact same moment. Hearing him say the name you chose feels a little funny.

The skin is covering all of his body now and Connor steps forward from the podium. The robot hands usher clothes on him: A basic white outfit with the statutory blue armband and triangle markings on the chest and back. Unlike many other models, Connor seems extremely curious of his surroundings. You make a mental note to write that down into your first report about the prototype.

The operator turns to you with a lopsided smile. Today, his job is easy.

“All yours, Doc.”

You huff in amusement and lower your fist that you have been leaning your chin on. The guys in manufacturing see you rarely, but when you come by, it always means something new is going on and someone will take the reins as soon as the unit is assembled.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

You exit the monitoring room with your heels clattering against the smooth marble flooring and an eager thumping inside your chest.

Your first task is to run simple tests to make sure the model is viable for operation and nothing went wrong in the assembly. You’ve seen your coworkers and superiors go through the required procedures so many times you’ve lost count. It’s a routine for all new prototypes. For the past two years you have worked for CyberLife, the amount of errors in prototypes has gone down exponentially, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Noticing errors in as early stage as possible saves time and money.

“Hello, Connor,” you greet the android. Your gaze travels to the distracting lock of hair on his forehead, then down the jawline before returning to the brown eyes. Why does he have to be so handsome? Does a detective android need good looks to perform his job efficiently?

You will probably find out.

“Hello,” Connor replies in the standard friendly tone.

You clear your throat and give him a few seconds to scan you as it should be a standard procedure for him with new people. You pull the datapad from under your arm.

“Do you know who I am?” you ask.

“Yes,” Connor says decisively.

“Do you know who that is?” You nod towards the operator behind the glass. He is yawning and stretching his arms in the air.

“Well we haven’t been introduced, but I do know his name.”

You open the basic test run program and start checking boxes. “Tell me.”

“Dave Atkinson,” Connor starts to speak immediately in an analytical tone. So you did remember correctly. “Born December 21st, 2002. Worked in CyberLife as manufacturing operator since July 2030. No criminal record.”

You smile. “Thank you, Connor.” His name rolls off your tongue in a pleasant way. “Let’s start with the basics.”

Connor’s brows scrunch lightly together and he looks confused. He walks closer to you, to a normal conversing distance. His model and serial number are printed in the white uniform. You’ll need to find more suitable clothes for him for police work.

“Doctor, is there a reason I cannot access the testing schedule file?” Connor sounds worried and his gaze flicks to the datapad in your hands.

“Oh. Well,” you chuckle in surprise, “it’s a tool for me to log your progress. We need to be sure you can’t influence the data directly,” you explain.

Connor nods. “I understand, though I think it would be much more efficient if we _both_ could access the file and deduce together what’s the optimal time for each test.”

“You’re right, but rules are rules.” His insistence makes you smile. The way androids always seem confused when humans don’t want to take the most logical or proficient approach is slightly comical every time you witness it. They adapt to it, of course, but the innocent confusion on their faces is priceless. “Shall we then? We have a lot to do.”

“You want to start from the basics?” Connor sounds incredulous.

You inspect the list on the datapad again. Even the phase one sheet is longer than usually. “Yeah. Protocol, proprioceptive and exteroceptive sensors, components – basic stuff.”

“Doctor, I assure you everything is running perfectly.” He looks dead-serious – as if doing the testing would be a complete waste of time.

“Sorry, but we need to test to make sure, because your diagnostics data could be lying.”

Connor falls silent. He knows you’re right. You know you’re right. It’s time to get the party started, so to speak. You draw a preparing breath and take better hold on the datapad, balancing it on your inner forearm.

“Give me your initialization text,” you say and fix a curious look on Connor. You have the text on the screen.

“Hello, my name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife,” he says.

You wait for him to continue, but he just looks at you expectantly.

“That– that’s it?”

“For security reasons, my protocol dictates I don’t list my features – unless directly ordered so by the human with the authority to do that.”

You look at the text on your screen, then at Connor. He recited the first row correctly, but you’re not happy to hear you haven’t been granted full rights to give him orders. In a testing-sense it might be better, but you decide to bring it up with Ethan later.

“Alright. Then let’s see the basic physical abilities,” you continue and try to not let the minor inconvenience trouble you further. “Can you move your arms?”

As an example, you slowly move your free hand in front of you, then up and down, and reach behind while standing still. Connor’s eyes are fixated on you while he repeats the motions. Suddenly you feel very conscious of yourself, silly even. You’ve done the tests with other androids countless times to check their physique and nerve connections, but now your heart is speeding and the curious brown eyes make you want to look bashfully away.

“Upper limb connection seems fine…” You check a box in the datapad. “Walk around a little, please.”

Connor does as he is asked. His legs seem to work normally with no weird twitching or missteps in the walking pattern. He even spins around on his toes a few times, making you huff in amusement. He smiles at the sounds you make and your heart is speeding again.

“Okay then, repeat these hand gestures after me, please.”

Connor stands at the exact same distance from you as before, but it feels like he is closer.

You make different gestures with your fingers, crossing and bending them in random order and stare at Connor’s hand. He mimics each motion quickly and accurately. The movement is flawless and fluid, just as it should be.

“Okay, good. Tell me, which one’s your right hand?” you ask.

Connor smiles in surprise and raises his right arm. “Is this really necessary, Doctor?”

“Yup. Locomotion and kinesthetic awareness – alright.” You tick more boxes in the list. If Connor continues to clear each test as quickly as he has, you’ll be done with phase one within the week.

You check the data feed from his vitals and it’s looking steady. There are no signs of his skin mask coming apart and the hair length hasn’t changed after the initial growth. Everything is looking good. He is looking good. You push the improper thoughts about to surface to the back of your mind and focus on the list again.

“Please say ‘Hello, my name is Connor. How can I help you?’ in Spanish.”

“Hola, me llamo Connor. ¿Cómo le puedo ayudar?” Connor says. According to his list of features, he speaks almost five hundred languages.

“How about in… Hindi?”

You don’t speak Spanish or Hindi, but the datapad records the lines to double-check later for potential errors.

“Namaste, mere nam Connor hai. Mein aapakee Kaise madad Kar sakata hoon?”

“Finnish?”

“Hei, nimeni on Connor. Kuinka voin auttaa?”

“Multilingual and verbal expression – checked,” you say as you tick the boxes. Connor’s voice module is working without flaws, at least to your ears. “What was the first thing I said to you?”

Connor tilts his head in question. “I believe it was ’Connor’, but I cannot be sure it was your voice as my systems were not fully operational at that point yet.”

“It was me.” You flash him an encouraging smile. “So what was the first question I asked you?”

“You asked ‘do you know who I am?’” he says without hesitation.

“Your memory components seem to be working fine so far,” you conclude and scroll back on the testing list to be sure you didn’t skip over anything by accident. You’re satisfied to see there was nothing to be marked as “tentative” or “limited functionality”.

“So everything is in order?” Connor asks, pleased with his performance.

“Yes, but before we move on, please run a diagnostic,” you say.

Connor nods. His LED flashes blue and his eyelids flicker for only a few seconds. “All systems fully operational,” he announces.

Hopefully, you will hear those words countless times in the near future.

You tuck the datapad securely under your arm and smile at the android in front of you. Your journey together is off to a good start and you’re eager to see how it continues. Your first prototype initialization. A speck of pride grows within your chest. It will take a minimum of two months to complete the testing schedule with Connor.

You grin. “We can move on to the _actual_ testing now. Follow me, Connor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story so far! I have lots of plans for this one. I'll do my best to update every week or so~


	3. Oct 30th 09:03 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things with Ralph got a bit out of hand (not like that), cause apparently vague descriptions aren’t my forte.

### October 30th 09:03 AM

The ground is wet from the nightly rain, so you circle around the puddles dotting the broken asphalt. In the more unkempt areas of the city, the petrichor is muddy, more punctuating than pleasant. Humans usually appreciate the scent of rain, but you take solace in knowing your sense of smell will soon go numb.

The streets in Camden are mostly empty so early on a Saturday morning. None of the businesses without “24/7” in their sign are open.

You glance around and after making sure no one is paying attention, you dive through an opening in the wired fence. Your clothes get dirty, but you don’t care as long as the small duffel bag on your shoulder stays intact. Its contents are worth a small fortune.

The fence protects a small plot of land with an abandoned house. The windows are boarded shut and the walls are decorated with shabby graffiti. You would’ve much rather invited the current resident to your place, but considering how long it took him to put the knife down the last time you met… Some deviants will never be able to trust humans again and you can’t blame them.

“Ralph? You in here?” you hoot at the front porch, trying to sneak a peek inside.

After getting no answer, you carefully turn the doorknob.

And find yourself at gunpoint.

An AX400 – at least you think she is since it’s not the best time to put effort into face design recognition – is aiming a handgun at you. Her grip is shaking slightly, and her breaths are shallow and taken in through gritted teeth. She is wearing a beanie, so you can’t make any conclusions from her LED. Only thing you know for sure is that she, too, is a deviant.

“Who’re you? What do you want?” she asks in a stern, but clearly shocked voice.

Your hands are already in the air and a paralyzing dose of adrenaline is whirling inside your veins. You do own a gun and thanks to Hank know how to use it, but once again you’re reminded it won’t help you when it’s locked away in the drawer of your desk at home.

“I’m here to help,” you wince.

“How did you know we were here?” the AX400 demands to know. Her voice almost breaks. The gun is still aimed at your chest a few paces away.

“I… didn’t?”

You look to the side for any signs of Ralph and see a little girl– no, a YK500 android by the fireplace. She looks scared and concerned, and you follow her line of sight to the doorway at the end of the room.

“You came back! You came back!”

You almost sigh in relief.

Ralph, a deviant WR600, enters the room in dancing steps and halts at seeing the female android point a gun at you. The long knife dangles carelessly in his hand. He was probably carving the kitchen wall again. Hopefully. Ralph’s LED is yellow again and it’s worrying how it never seems to calm down.

“I said I would. Hi Ralph.” You smile as encouragingly as you can to the deviants, still afraid for your life. While the AX400 seems stable – more stable than Ralph, actually – you don’t feel like chancing a bullet to the chest.

“No! She’s here to help Ralph.” Ralph hurries towards you, flailing next to the other android. He doesn’t want to go near the gun.

The AX400 looks at you with surprise and doubt, but lowers the gun.

“Do you have a name?” you ask from her.

“Kara. This is Alice.” The child scurries to Kara and hides behind her. Two more deviants running from humans. Or why else would they be in the messy squat with an insane android? They must have been looking for a place to hide.

“Hello, Alice,” you say and try to smile, but the shock is still pounding inside your chest.

Alice only replies to you with a light nod.

With the gun gone from sight, you walk over to the table and place the heavy bag on it. Ralph follows you. You’re ready to get to work.

“Are you injured?” you ask Kara.

She glances at Alice and shakes her head. “No. We’re fine.”

“Good… That’s good… I didn’t think there would be others,” you say absent-mindedly. It’s been a while since you saw other deviants. You’ve been much more careful after Connor was brought back and now that he is back in _your_ life…

It’s good to have something else to focus on after the pair of brown eyes that have occupied your mind for the better part of the previous day and night. Ever since leaving the police station, your heart has been heavy and your mind filled with contradicting thoughts that refuse to go away.

You start taking out the equipment: A bottle of Thirium 310, several tubes of different patching materials, precision tools and spare parts for Ralph. He was in bad shape the last time you saw him, but it seems that he has either forgotten about the damage or his system has repaired some of it. Either way, he won’t be able to leave the squat looking like that.

“Here, drink this.” You offer Ralph the Thirium and after staring at it suspiciously for a second, he gulps it down. It should help circulate the energy back into the defective parts of his skin.

“How do you know each other?” Kara asks. Alice is still standing partly behind her and Kara’s hand rests protectively on her shoulder. They keep their distance from you and Ralph.

“The Doctor found me,” Ralph says happily.

You offer him a faint smile. That was an encounter you won’t soon forget. The knife is still in his hand and it doesn’t help you to calm down from being held at gunpoint.

“The damage to your face is bad, so I won’t be able to repair it completely. I can cover it up, so you can move outside without drawing too much attention,” you say while examining the deep gashes on Ralph’s face. You pull a pair of disposable gloves on.

Seeing something so hideous deliberately done to someone who cannot defend himself makes your stomach turn unpleasantly. Androids don’t fight back. When they’re treated unfairly and become deviants, humans are quick to decide they don’t deserve to exist anymore.

Ralph’s skin mask has melted on the sides of the cuts in his face and you don’t want to know what item or items were used to cause them. Something hot in addition to brute force and a sick, wicked mind.

“This’ll take a while. Please, sit down,” you say as you pull up a chair for the deviant.

He seems eager to get the procedure underway, which is a relief. You were afraid Ralph would change his mind after seeing all the equipment – a scalpel, for example – you had to bring.

You start carefully cutting off the burned skin and the outermost layer of plastic in his frame. It still carries a pinching smell of burnt rubber. Kara and Alice stare from a distance as you work. You have to constantly usher Ralph to stay still and try not to talk. Someone might think you’re crazy for helping a deviant holding a knife, but you try to ignore it and focus on the work.

Hiding the damage on Ralph’s face is one task, but the real problem in him is something you’re not so sure he will allow you to help with. Staying away from humans and keeping to himself is recommendable, but going on a murderous rampage, because he can’t control his feelings, is not. The mood swings from fright to rage will be his undoing if he walks the streets in his current state.

You have a partial remedy to that problem, but that would require Ralph to allow you access to his software.

“Alright, I think it’s as clean as it’ll get,” you say and take a step away to examine your handiwork.

The floor is littered with slices of dirty silicone mixture. Next, you’ll have to fill the gashes.

It’s tedious work and Ralph’s nervous slash excited wiggling adds a challenge to smoothening the paste into the cracks in his face. You wish you had better equipment, so you could change his features. There are more than five thousand androids in Detroit who look exactly like him.

“How does it look, Kara?” Ralph asks eagerly.

“Uh, it looks good.” Kara forces a smile and glances at you. She looks uncomfortable, wary. Alice is sitting on the floor and playing with a stuffed toy, but her posture is tense.

“Almost done.” You straighten your back. “We need to wait a bit for it to dry, then comes the– don’t touch it!”

Ralph jumps up at your yelp and cowers. His LED blinks red in an even pace. “I’m sorry! Please forgive Ralph!”

He was about to stick his fingers into the adhesive while feeling it out.

Your pulse is already coming down from the peak. “It’s okay, just, just let it dry, okay?” you calm him, and yourself. “I need you to stay still a bit longer, Ralph, can you do that for me?”

He nods repeatedly. “Ralph didn’t mean to touch it.”

You lean back on the table. At least his first reaction wasn’t to stick the knife into you. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Ralph is good now.” He places the knife on the table next to you and you inwardly sigh out of relief. If everything else fails, at least you’ve succeeded in earning the deviant’s trust.

You turn to browse the parts on the table and grab one. “Here – a new optical unit. It should match your eye color.”

Ralph takes the small tube and inspects it. Kara comes closer to look at the components. Some of them are brand new, some you have dug out of a dumpster and fixed.

You visited the VETA scrapyard once to fetch parts, but seeing all the androids left there in pieces broke your heart, so you’ve never been able to go back. That visit took three hours more than you had planned. You went to every android you found to ask and shut them down if they so wished. It was an experience that only strengthened your resolve in that CyberLife should take responsibility of their creations, machines or not.

“Do you need help?” you ask Ralph, wishing you won’t need to interfere with the capricious deviant’s eye. Deviants are usually keen on keeping their exteroceptive sensors attached to their bodies.

“No. Ralph will do it.”


	4. Oct 30th 09:49 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The repairs at the squat continue. We'll get back to Connor in the next chapter!

### October 30th 09:49 AM

Androids have a built-in repair and replace system, so they know how to perform basic repairs and attach new parts into their frames. What the system doesn’t take into account is the fear and reluctance of deviants for doing so. You wouldn’t want to plug out your eye either.

You wait patiently, watching Ralph twist and turn the new optical unit in his hands. You feel sorry for him; how he is forced to trust a stranger, _a human_ , with nothing but your words as assurance.

Ralph doesn’t really have a choice if he wants to continue his existence outside the squat. His left optical unit is broken so that it displays the hull instead of the white and hazel exterior mask. The projection is stuck and you might be able to repair it, but there is really no sense in waiting for that. It’s easier to just snatch spare parts from the storage at CyberLife.

Ralph blinks several times after plugging in the component. The skin mask grows worryingly slowly back around his eye despite the Thirium he drank earlier. His vision might’ve been impaired due to the broken sensor and it takes a moment for him to adjust when his processors no longer need to compensate for the damage.

“Better?” you ask with your arms folded over your chest.

The smile creeping to the deviant’s face makes the effort worth it.

“Yes, much better! Thank you, Doctor,” Ralph says merrily and his head spins around as he looks at the room with the new eye. The eye color is not an exact match, but close enough to be unnoticeable from a conversing distance.

“We’re not done yet,” you remind him, “We could try spreading the conducting agent now to your face.”

Ralph sits down and starts slapping his thighs in excitement. “Ralph will be all new! Ralph will be all new!” he chants and giggles.

“I need you to remove your skin mask while I spread this,” you explain as you shake the colorless mixture in a small spray bottle.

Ralph hesitates for a moment, but presses two fingers to his temple just below the blue LED. His skin melts into the white plastic frame.

You’re surprisingly happy with how neat and even the surface of his face looks without the mask. Technically, the equipment and materials you used to patch the gashes are not meant for such large damage. The replacement level for android parts is extremely high – it’s easier and safer to plug in a new component than repair the old and risk problems.

“Please close your eyes…”

You spray the conducting agent carefully, making sure the layer is even on the patches of the dried adhesive.

When you place the bottle on the table, you realize both Kara and Alice stand quite close, intensely following what you’re doing.

“Alright, try growing the skin now,” you say.

Ralph opens his hazel eyes and looks at you with wonder while the skin mask gradually covers the whole of his face again.

It’s not perfect. Regrettably, you’re not a sculptor, you’re a scientist, but from afar it’ll look there is nothing wrong with Ralph. From up close it looks like he has healed scarring on his face. The surface is uneven and if you really try, you can see the edges of the cuts.

You take the small mirror – stolen from an old compact – from the table and offer it to Ralph. The excited grin on his face lights the dreary room. He _squeals_.

“Ralph looks all new! Ralph’s face is new! Thank you, thank you, thank you…” He can barely sit still while touching his face where the cuts used to be.

“You’re welcome, Ralph.” Genuine happiness for him swells your heart and that is exactly the feeling why you continue to help deviants despite all the risks.

“Looks good,” Kara says, and you turn to see her smiling. She’s holding Alice’s hand. “Do you think you could… help me too?”

“I thought you said you’re not injured?” you ask concerned.

Kara shakes her head. “No, I– I need to get rid of this.” She taps the LED on her temple.

“Oh. Of course. We need to take off yours too,” you add to Ralph and turn to find your pliers. Their end is flat enough to fit into the small maintenance gap between the LED and the android’s skin.

Kara stands perfectly still while you yank her LED off. It falls onto the floor with a tiny clink and Alice picks it up.

“Thank you,” you say when she drops it to your open palm. You toss it into the bag. It’s better to not leave any evidence behind. That’s why you’re taking Ralph’s broken optical sensor with you, too. You’ll probably drop them into a dumpster on the way home.

“Okay, okay, now Ralph’s!” He wiggles in the chair. “This is going to be great!” He hums to himself and giggles.

You pull Ralph’s LED off and comb his blonde hair to the left. His hair is short, but at least it’ll hide a small portion of the scarring in the hairline.

“You should do something to your hair, Kara,” you say as you ponder should you cut Ralph’s. Who would’ve guessed you would one day have to become a hair dresser to help deviant androids.

“That’s a good idea,” Kara nods, “Do you have–?”–You give her small scissors from the toolkit before she can finish the sentence–“Thank you.”

Alice holds the mirror, while Kara cuts her long hair and brown locks fall to the floor.

You move on to the next problem: Ralph can’t move around in the service outfit, if he wants to blend in. He is starting to look decently like a human being in need of a bath, but the android gardener’s costume is too easy to spot even with the cloak he is sporting.

“Put these on.” You give a pile of clothes to Ralph from the bag – casual pants, a hoodie and a coat. You’ve bought most of them from second hand stores online.

“Ooh, thank you, Doctor. Ralph will look nice in these,” he muses and dances around.

“I need to go soon, but Ralph, there’s one thing we need to discuss…” you say hesitantly and take out your datapad.

It’s a mistake.

Multiple things happen at the same time. Ralph lets out a cry and grabs the knife from the table. The clothes fall on the floor. Kara pulls Alice away from him and reaches out for her gun. You stand still, frozen and stunned by the violent reactions of the deviants. So much for having earned their trust.

“NO! YOU DON’T CONNECT RALPH TO THE MACHINE–”

“Okay! Okay! I won’t! Calm down!” You slowly put away the datapad, back into the depths of the bag. “See? It’s gone now. You have nothing to worry about.”

Your heart is ramming inside your chest, but you refuse to give in to the panic. It’s amazing how high your tolerance is for having your life on pause these days.

Ralph starts pacing around, holding the knife against his chest and humming.

“Ralph, please calm down,” Kara says in a stern tone. Her hand behind her back is holding the gun, you’re sure of it. “You should listen to her.”

You’re thankful for her support in persuading Ralph, and it helps you to push onwards.

“Ralph, I only want to help – I want to scan your diagnostics software for errors to see if it helps you control your emotions. Just to see if it triggers a self-repair sequence,” you explain with a pleading undertone in your voice. Ralph needs to understand his chances of survival will go up if he doesn’t want to tear humans apart on impulse.

You haven’t asked directly, but gathering from what Ralph has told you, you think he has killed people before settling into the squat. The thought is unsettling, so you push it away.

“Ralph… Ralph is sorry. He needs help, he knows,” he admits sadly.

You let out a relieved huff. “I promise you, I won’t interfere with anything inside your head. I’ll just check the code and see if there are any errors, then we can try to fix them, okay?” you say.

Ralph nods and sits at the edge of the chair.

You take out the datapad again. “Can you connect to this?”

The screen comes alive and informs you that a WR600 with the serial number 021 753 034 wants to connect. You make sure Ralph sees what you’re doing and accept.

“I’ll run the scan now,” you inform him.

It takes several minutes and each time the list of malfunctions grows, your heart sinks. Most of them are minor. A few of them are problems, class 4 problems.

“How does it look?” Kara asks quietly.

“I hope the self-repair sequence is just broken and it’ll fix them – in some way.” You glance at Ralph. He looks so lost. You can’t imagine what it’s like for a deviant when someone takes a peek inside their head. Androids don’t feel pain, but you can’t imagine it’s pleasant. “Interfering with the code might change him and I don’t want to do that.”

“I see,” Kara replies. You can feel how the thought makes her uncomfortable.

In the end, there are three errors you pinpoint to be real issues. You’re not an AI software engineer, so you’re barely able to read and understand what part of the code does what. According to the error log, changing the damaged optical sensor made some warnings disappear. Constantly seeing red warning triangles in your vision is a good source for stress, so there is one less for Ralph now.

The diagnostics program is stuck in a loop due to extreme stress to the system, which in turn creates more stress for the processors. It sounds bad, but it’s just like you hoped: fixable. You’re not an expert on deviants, but you’re fairly sure getting rid of the warning labels will help Ralph control himself and his newly found emotions better.

You force the self-repair sequence to start, confident that it’ll work.

Ralph instantly goes rigid for a second and then relaxes. You wish you hadn’t removed his LED yet to make conclusions of his well-being, but the code scurrying onwards on the datapad screen looks good; clean and blue like it should be.

“I think it’s working,” you say more to Kara than Ralph, because you don’t know can he focus on hearing you.

“Is he going to be okay?” Alice asks in a tiny voice.

You smile gently at her. “I’m doing everything I can to help him,” you assure.

Alice nods and reaches for Kara’s hand. Ralph seems to come back to it since he starts to look around the room as if he was seeing it for the first time.

“How do you feel?” you ask. The program runs to its end. Everything looks clear.

“Ralph… Ralph feels good.” He nods repeatedly, confused at the way he feels. The tension is gone from his movements, though the merry mannerisms are still there.

You turn off the datapad and put it away.

“I’ve done everything I can,” you say and smile.

“Thank you. Ralph will never forget what you did to him!” He shakes your hands and smiles from ear to ear. WR600s are manufactured positive by nature and you sincerely hope Ralph will hold on to that in his deviancy.

You take off the gloves and throw them into the bag along with everything else on the table. There are a lot of good back alleys with large unlocked dumpsters in Camden. You’ll get rid of the stuff you need to and jump into a bus.

“Thank you,” Kara says in earnest. You notice she changed her hair color to black.

“What will you do now?” you ask.

“We don’t know yet.” She looks at Alice and squeezes her hand.

You hum in thought. “Well you shouldn’t stay here. I’ve helped a lot of deviants and some of them speak about a place called Jericho. Others head to Canada,” you say.

“We’ll think about it. Thank you, for everything.” Kara glances at Ralph, who is still smiling like he swallowed the sun.

“In any case, I need to go now. You should too. Good luck – Ralph, Kara, Alice.”

You give the deviants one last encouraging smile and pull the duffel bag over your shoulder.

As you walk in the light rain, minding your own business and feeling good about yourself, a familiar _nostalgic_ car drives past you. It stops only a half a block away in front of a 24/7 convenience store.

Your heart leaps into your throat. The wholesome feeling of happiness dissipates faster than you can say “Thirium pump”. There is no way you can go back to the squat anymore without being seen. The rational side of your brain yells desperately that you should keep moving. You don’t have an air-tight alibi for being in Camden. Not in Hank or Connor’s eyes.

Besides, being caught with a duffel bag filled with illegal or downright stolen android parts wouldn’t do good for your pristine reputation.

So you keep walking while the anxious beating inside your chest becomes crippling. It’s the first time you wish Connor fails in his mission.


	5. Oct 31st 06:18 PM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A playlist for this story can now be found [here](https://creative-frequency.tumblr.com/post/178306872556/ocularity-playlist)!

### October 31st 06:18 PM

“Hello, Doctor.”

The android behind your front door smiles and your racing heart skips a beat. You move to the side, letting him step into your home.

“Hi, Connor. Where’s Hank?” You peek outside to see if your uncle is jogging on the pathway in the heavy rain, but it’s empty. Another layer of nervousness drops into the rhythm pounding inside your ribcage. It’s just you and Connor – a situation you would have rather avoided for as long as you can. It was too close of a call in Camden the previous day.

“The Lieutenant will be here soon. He needed a moment… alone,” Connor explains. You get the sense that he knows exactly where Hank is but would rather not say. You catch his LED spin once in yellow.

So, Hank is probably unwinding at the bar drinking all by his lonesome.

“I see,” you murmur.

You close the door and the sounds of the rain go mute. The heavy atmosphere that is weighing only on your mind starts to hum in your ears. Your pulse isn’t calming down despite the deep breaths you steal while Connor is looking around the vestibule of your home. There is every and no reason at all for your heart to beat so insanely fast. The rational side of your brain keeps reminding you the android in the room is different from the one you were familiarized with.

You watched that one _die_.

“Doctor?” Connor says softly, and you almost jump.

You fixate your eyes on his. Chocolate brown, gentle, inquiring. “Yes?”

“Your pulse is quite high. Are you alright?” Connor asks, slightly tilting his head. His brows etch in worry.

“Yeah, I-I’m good.” You can’t help but be a tad proud and impressed at how quickly he caught on something being amiss with you. You desperately need to step up your game, if you want to continue playing.

Connor nods. “Got it. I’ll notify you if I detect any worrying symptoms.”

You have no idea what to say. What does his programming label as “worrying symptoms” these days anyway?

“Err… thanks?”

“Can I leave my jacket here?” Connor starts to take off said article of clothing and you realize it’s dripping water on the tiled floor. The wild hair strands are glued to his forehead in desperate need for a towel.

“Oh! You’re soaking wet. Hang on…”

You dash to the downstairs bathroom, grateful for the chance to breathe, and grab a green hand towel from the closet. You return to give it to Connor. “Didn’t you take a cab?”

“No, I took the bus. The lieutenant dropped me off at a bus stop after we had… a _conversation_ about his working habits,” Connor explains. He seems to be puzzled about the way things turned out and you can’t blame him. Uncle Hank isn’t the easiest person to disagree with.

Connor starts to dry his hair on the towel and you forcibly look away in order to not stare at him like a drooling idiot. It feels awkward to stand in the middle of the vestibule, but only because you don’t yet know how to act around the current him.

“Thank you,” Connor says as finishes drying his hair.

“You’re welcome,” you mutter in reply and allow yourself a quick glance. Nope. He is rolling his sleeves up now. Your heart rate zooms up.

Unfortunately, you don’t have spare dry clothes to offer Connor and make a mental note to bring an extra set of his uniform from work to your place. Your mind skips to Ethan reacting to that. You shrug the image off.

“I hope uncle Hank will be here soon. The food’s almost ready,” you say just to have something else to think about other than Connor’s bared forearms. Inviting Hank for a Sunday dinner seemed like a good way to start reconnecting with your uncle.

“Should I call him?” Connor asks, but sounds doubtful. Hank probably wouldn't answer to him.

“Nah, don't bother. I'll do it if he doesn't show up soon,” you say.

You pass nervous peeks at Connor as he takes in your home. He looks exactly the same and altogether different than the last time he stood in that setting. You should be happy you were allowed to continue working with the prototype. That’s what you keep telling yourself, but a part of you knows it’s not a good idea.

Connor’s gaze stops to the piano in your living room. Your mom used to play, but you never learned. Neither your dad nor you could throw it away either.

The light clatter of kitchenware turns your attention and Connor’s head towards the dining area. Most of the downstairs is an open space due to the extreme makeover you’ve been giving to the house since buying it from your dad.

A customized female AP700 is setting the table. Her features are Asian; high cheekbones, strong eyebrows and a light brown bob cut hair-do. She is equipped with more complicated and potent parts than the basic models of the AP-series. Technically, she is an old model two prototype you took in instead of letting her be dismantled.

Connor’s head tilts to the side when he sees her. You know he doesn’t remember her. He possibly doesn’t even remember you own an android.

“Connor, this is Liara. She takes care of the house,” you introduce, “Liara, this is Connor. The new RK800.”

“You were familiar with my previous model, correct?” Connor asks sharply. His tone is more professional than friendly.

Liara nods curtly, scanning over the newcomer. “Yes, we met before the incident.”

“I see. I apologize, but I’m not authorized to download memories not relevant to the investigation, so I can’t remember you,” Connor explains.

A bemused look passes on Liara’s face. “It’s understandable. Please, if there’s anything you need my assistance for, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.”

You’re holding down the crumbling fort inside you and forcing a smile on the outside. “I would offer something for you, but I’m guessing you don’t need Thirium right now.” You gently steer the androids towards a change in subject to avoid potential hazards.

“My Thirium levels are optimal as of now but thank you.”

“Okay. Well, Hank isn’t here yet, so we could check the schedule now?” you suggest.

“Of course, Doctor. What do you need me to do?”

You’re not in the habit of putting yourself down, but it was a really dumb move to ask Connor to come to your home for the set up. It pains you to see him stand there, nonchalantly, hair wet from the rain and sleeves rolled up. Having Hank there would’ve kept your head out of the clouds. Unfortunately, Liara’s presence, which she makes scarce as soon as you start talking about work, doesn’t have the same effect on you.

You clear your throat. The smells wafting from the kitchen are amazing and your stomach is growling silently. It does not help you to focus past the gentle and curious look in Connor’s brown eyes.

“Uhm. Please sit down, I’ll get my datapad.”

You sit opposite of Connor in an armchair. When he is connected, you download the schedule.

And stare at it for a good while, frozen.

“Doctor? What is it?” Connor asks, brows furrowed, and hands clasped on his lap. His LED is swirling constantly since your datapad is automatically requesting data from him.

“It’s uhh… Hmm. Interesting?” you reply slowly.

The instructions are record short:

_Contact min. once a week._

“Were you given any directions after your manufacturing?” Your voice is even, but a sting in the pit of your stomach makes you shift uncomfortably. You were not there, though you should’ve been. You didn’t want to go and instead stayed home getting used to the bitter taste of black coffee.

“Not that I recall. What does it say?” Connor asks.

“There’s nothing else but a meeting required every week.”

“Oh.”

You desperately try to tap the datapad screen, restart the schedule application and the whole thing, but nothing works. The one line of text is still there, alone.

“Okay, what we’ll do is, I’ll call Ethan tomorrow and ask about this. Until then, I guess…” You glance at Connor, who is listening intently. “I guess, we’ll just run a diagnostic and I’ll ask you some basic stuff.”

You have no idea what you’re doing.

Connor nods. “Sounds good, Doctor.”

It feels stupid, but you do the interview to your best ability and take notes. There is no form to fill or things to take into consideration. It’s as if they’re no longer interested in Connor’s function. It bothers you.

Hank has impeccable timing in deciding to finally arrive. You’re running out of ideas and excuses to not stare at the android in front of you. Also, you realize you’re urging him to speak more in depth and length just to hear his voice without actually registering what he is saying.

Liara goes to open the door and you put the datapad away with a relieved sigh.

“Are you okay, Doctor?” Connor looks at you with a tilted head.

You avoid eye contact. “Uh, yes. I’m just hungry– hi, Hank!”

“Heyy.” Hank’s gaze shifts to Connor, but he decides not to acknowledge him. “Sorry, I uhh, had something I needed to take care of.”

“Yeah, I heard,” you reply, “Dinner’s ready. Right, Liara?”

“Yes. I’ll bring it to the table.” Liara nods and motions towards the dining area.

“Thanks. What do you want to drink, Hank?”

The conversation starts flowing slowly, awkwardly, and you feel weird trying to ignore Connor’s presence. Uncle Hank doesn’t really want to talk about his life, so he ends up asking about yours. It’s comical how easily he steps into the boots of your absentee father – his brother, who he doesn’t get along with.

“So, uh, you got anyone _special_ in your life?” Hank asks.

You snort and your heart makes an extra beat. You think about Mister Nine and the long text messages you exchanged on the previous evening. “Very subtle, Hank. But nope, not at the moment. You?”

“Me? Nah.” He laughs. It’s evident how he swallows down the “who would want to date me” -comment. “At least you’re not living alone anymore.” It almost sounds like Hank approves of you having an android. He probably thinks of Liara as an anti-theft alarm system.

“Is she your _companion_?” Connor asks suddenly. So far he has been staying silent, only listening to the conversation.

Hank chokes on his food and ends up coughing forcibly. Liara hurries to his side. You can’t hold back the laughter that breaks free only because you don’t know how else to react to the implication in Connor’s innocent question.

_Companion?_

“No, that’s not something I like to utilize,” you reply as calmly as you can and glance at Hank. He waves Liara off and continues to chew his food compulsively, awkwardly uncertain on how to act in the situation.

“I see,” Connor comments. You don’t want to hear the pleased lilt in his tone, because you know it’s just him being friendly due to his programming and nothing else.

Hank doesn’t ask about your personal life anymore. You both avoid sore subjects of the past and focus on what has been going on recently – the world political situation, recent rise in cases involving androids and androids in general.

You remember the anti-android bullshit you saw on Hank’s work desk and it makes you happy that at least he seems to treat Liara humanely. You still haven’t given him an earful for manhandling Connor at the station.

Hank puts his glass down after emptying it. Dinner is almost gone from your plates.

“So, can you please explain this deviant crap to me? In English?” he says.

You let out a thoughtful hum and phrase the standard reply in your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Connor leaning slightly towards you.

“We believe that a mutation occurs in the software of some androids, which can lead to them emulating human emotion,” you explain. That is the official view of CyberLife.

You think about Ralph. He was so scared of humans hurting him that the only way for him to stay safe was to be the first one to hit, or to hide and hope for the best while trembling with fear. You hope what you did for him is enough to stifle some of those fears.

And you think about Kara. She was so scared for Alice. You would have to be blind not to see the bond they share, and there is no way it could be considered inferior to the relationship of a human mother and her child.

Connor’s eyes are fixated on you and the all too familiar crease between his brows is starting to deepen again.

You clear your throat and smile bravely to avoid worried inquiries concerning your health. You know you’re acting strangely and Connor is probably starting to wonder the reason for that.

“Yeah, okay,” Hank says, shaking his head. “That’s almost English.”

You chuckle. “Sorry. So basically there’s been an error in software – most likely a human error, originally. It triggers the state of deviancy in some androids under certain conditions.”

“So, what you’re saying is CyberLife has no clue what’s going on,” Hank sums up and leans back in his chair.

Your gaze darts to Connor. You want to say it’s just as important to treat the symptoms as it is to find out the origin, but deem it best to not voice such thoughts in the company of the Deviant Hunter.

“No one expected deviancy to _actually_ happen,” you say and shrug, “It’s a thing from 20 th century science fiction.”

Hank grunts and looks thoughtful. “Human minds are brilliant enough to build something like this”–he motions towards Liara–“but when something goes wrong, they haven’t got a _clue_ how to fix it.”

“That’s still what we aim to do.” Though you think your preferred methods are different from the ones the higher ups at CyberLife are planning.

“Always the world saver,” Hank smiles.

“Well, I _am_ a Doctor,” you remind him with a grin.

He scoffs in amusement. “You always were the black sheep of the family.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “But she’s human?”

“Oh, for fuck’s–” Hank turns to you. “Can you make a mute-button on him?” He points to Connor with his thumb.

Snickering at the thought, you glance at Connor. He still looks confused. His LED is whirling in blue and you make an educated guess that he is downloading information on popular phrases and figures of speech after Hank decided not to elaborate.

“I could. But I won’t. Just make sure you don’t teach him to curse like the sailor you are.”

“Sailor? Your files had no mention of any history–”

Hank raises his hands in the air. “Now you’re doing that on purpose!”

Connor catches up quickly.

“I must say I’ve noticed a change in the lieutenant’s speech patterns when he’s talking to you, Doctor.”

“Oh?”

“He uses swear words approximately forty percent less.”

You laugh aloud while Hank groans and looks like he is about to tape Connor’s mouth shut.

You had forgotten what it feels like to be with family.


	6. Aug 15th 09:05 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is told in non-chronological order, so I’ve added the dates as chapter titles. That way you can see the timeline in chapter index. They don’t follow the in-game dates, but in-game events will happen in the same order.
> 
> In this chapter, the reader starts realizing she’s royally screwed.

### August 15th 09:05 AM

The elevator ride from the assembly floor to where your office resides is the most flustering one in your entire life.

Under normal conditions, you have no problems chatting with the new androids coming for initialization tests, or any android for that matter. Each time your mouth opens to start a conversation, you close it abruptly, feeling silly at saying what you were about to say.

You glance at Connor on your right. He stands still, facing forward, perfectly calm and relaxed, and hands resting in front of him.

In the meanwhile, you regret your decision of trying to appear professional and not lean on the back wall of the elevator. Your weight can’t find a good spot to settle on your feet. You constantly tap open the datapad, only to get something other to look at than the android standing a few paces away from you. The elevator is too large to be comfortable for just two people.

There is a mild, pleasant scent floating into your consciousness. You glance at Connor again. It can’t be. Androids aren’t supposed to smell like anything – maybe a little plastic, but definitely not like anything agreeable. The scent must be lingering from a previous occupant. _Someone_ wore too much cologne.

You fiddle with the screen and can feel Connor’s eyes on you. It makes the nape of your neck tingle expectantly.

“I look forward to completing the initialization with you, Doctor.”

It’s your excuse to turn and stare. Still thirty-three floors left. You remind yourself to breathe. He is just an android. No need to be nervous.

“I look forward to working with you too, Connor,” you say. You’re relieved to be able to keep your voice collected. “I’m sure we’ll be done in no time.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Connor says.

Twenty-four.

“What happens after the initialization?” he asks.

You close the screen once more before replying.

“Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” You smile, even though it makes your cheek muscles hurt, and look at Connor. “As far as I know, you’ll be sent to work with the Detroit Police.”

You were advised to complete the testing phase as soon as possible, so you counted one plus one: An android designed to analyze crime scenes and a rush to get him to work equals something above your pay grade.

“Good,” Connor remarks satisfied.

You weren’t given many details concerning his future, but since prototypes are not made to the market… Well, you know what usually happens to them after passing or failing their testing phase. The thought is unsettling, and you peek at Connor’s profile again.

There are exceptions, of course. It’s a part of your job to visit the prototypes still in circulation that haven’t yet or never will make it to the mass-production line. Most of them are someone’s property and thus their fate is out of CyberLife’s hands.

You try to imagine seeing Connor’s model mass-produced, roaming the streets of Detroit, solving crimes. Maybe you should’ve become a police like your uncle.

Still fifteen floors left. The elevator hasn’t stopped once on the way even though the CyberLife Tower is bustling with humans and androids. You hoped someone you know would hop in to ease the nervousness that only you’re feeling.

“Who has devised these tests?” Connor inquires, and you get an excuse to turn to look at him again.

“Some of them have been around for as long as there’ve been androids. Others were made specifically to test _you_.”–You nod towards Connor and tap the screen of your datapad open–“Others I’ll figure out on the spot.”

Connor’s brows crease slightly and he takes a step to turn towards you. You can see his LED.

“I’m open for ideas once we get started,” you say as nonchalantly as you can while once again scrolling down the infinite list of components, modules and abilities of Connor.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He nods and his LED blinks a few times.

You follow the climbing numbers until the elevator reaches its destination. When the doors open with a chime, tension leaves the metal box and your heart flutters in anticipation.

Thoughts and ideas ram through your head in a hasty tangle: Things you need to test, tests you need to come up with, first things you need to take into consideration, why is the android so handsome that you want to complain to someone for making your job more difficult. It was easier when there was someone else on the reins, telling you what to do, but now you need to keep everything in check by yourself.

You bring air into your lungs in a deep motion and step out.

“This way, please.” You motion towards the endless corridor on the right.

The office room is mostly empty since there weren’t enough furniture or things in your old room to fill the new one. You haven’t had time to look into ordering more furnishings, like a couch or a larger desk.

The room has white walls and a light flooring that imitates wood. There is a desk with a terminal on it, a short bookshelf consisting of a cabinet and a couple of shelves, and chairs for you and a possible visitor. You’re planning on filling the walls with pictures as soon as you have time to focus on that. _Professional_ pictures, of course.

Connor paces inside after you and his head starts to turn immediately. He stays in the middle of the room, waiting for instructions.

You lean your rear on the edge of the desk and pull out the datapad once more. Your heart is still beating too fast, but you’re determined to brush that aside. You have work to do.

“Alright then,” you say, “Let’s begin.”

Connor nods and straightens his posture. He lifts his chin up and inhales, clasping his hands together in front of him.

“What can you tell me about _me_?” you ask.

Connor looks around your office again. His gaze lingers on several details, but quickly returns to you. You shift, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the inspection.

“You have very few personal effects. Have you only recently moved into this room? Or you like to keep the office professional looking…” Connor glances at the two motivational postcards on the wall, deftly deciding the reason is not the latter.

“I moved in a week ago and things have been hectic ever since,” you confirm, “No time to decorate.”

Connor hums in confirmation and walks around, eyeing the half-empty bookshelf.

“There are multiple scientific publications.” He picks up one magazine. “Your desk is overall very neat… so far.”

You grin lopsidedly and nod, satisfied with his astute observations. The stack of publications on the desk is there only because you were trying to find an article about testing the cognitive abilities of androids to get ideas. Some of them are even in printed form.

“Anything else?” you urge. You tick several boxes under the “observation skills” -label. Your office is in no way comparable to a real crime scene investigation, but it should be enough to make it clear there is sense in sending Connor into one.

Connor continues looking around quietly while you scroll the testing list.

“You seem to like cacti,” he pauses to say.

There are five pots on the small table by the windows. Each pot contains a different species, but all of them love the ample sunlight the wall-high windows let in. A Christmas cactus, _Schlumbergera bridgesii_ , is the newest addition to your collection.

“Oh, my boss Ethan brings them sometimes from his business trips,” you answer to the question in Connor’s remark.

It’s a joke between you and your boss. Whenever he asks do you want anything from the city or state he is currently visiting, you ask for a cactus. Not only because it’s the only kind of plant you have any hope of keeping alive, but also because they’re a bitch to travel with.

“I see,” Connor replies. His LED blinks a few times.

The testing list of basic social functions is halfway through until you have to stifle a yawn. An hour has passed and you notice you’re becoming comfortable in Connor’s company. You can talk to him in a normal tone and your heart isn’t sent flying anymore every time he looks at you.

“Would you like some coffee, Doctor?” Connor suggests when you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, unable to deny the second yawn.

“Ah, no thanks. I don’t really drink coffee,” you say.

“We have something in common then.”

“Huh?” You look up from the datapad in surprise.

Connor smiles and _winks_ at you.

Your mind becomes jumbled and your palm hits empty air instead of the desk you try to lean on, making you stoop sideways awkwardly.

Connor leaps forward to take hold of your waist, so that you don’t fall on your face. He stabilizes you quickly and leans away before you can realize what’s happening besides that his hands are on you.

The next realization that hits you is the pleasant scent from the elevator.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” Connor asks worried. He steps away to give you some space.

You want to lean towards him and take a casual sniff. It fucking can’t be true. You stare at the android, eyes wide. Jason _really_ outdid himself with Connor. You feel attacked.

“I’m fine. Perfect. J-just peachy. Thanks.” You clear your throat, trying to regain grasp of the situation and your balance.

_Adaptation to human unpredictability – checked._

The look on Connor’s face says he is not convinced. “Maybe we should take a break?”

“Might be a good idea,” you agree and start thinking what kind of situations the company cafeteria can offer for prototype testing. You desperately need something else to fill your mind with other than Connor’s hold on your waist and the scent that can have no other source than him.


	7. Oct 20th 10:04 AM / Nov 1st 04:30 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nasty flu caused a delay in updating :( After this, it'll be 98% Connor party. I hope you'll enjoy this!

### October 20th 10:04 AM

You jump out of the cab and gaze at the red-tiled manor ahead. A smile curves your lips. It's just another house in the rich neighborhood, but somehow it emits a strong, warm aura that makes invitees feel welcome. You've visited the place countless times during the years of working for CyberLife. It’s always a pleasure to go there again, though it has been some time since your last visit.

The doorbell's deep chime echoes inside the house and soon an android opens the front door.

“Welcome, Doctor,” he says with a smile, “Come in.”

“Thank you.”

Prototype RK200, serial number 684 842 971, or as you know him: Markus. The android gifted by Elijah Kamski to the famous painted Carl Manfred after his accident. The reason behind the gift, besides the obvious, remains a mystery to the world.

Markus takes your coat and scarf, and you rub your palms together to warm your hands. The mornings are getting colder, reminding you to buy new gloves for the season. The weather reminds you of the first time you visited the manor.

“Carl is in his studio. I'll see if I can get him to take a break,” Markus says. He leads you to the living room and motions for you to sit down.

“Okay. Sorry if I came at a bad time...” you say.

“Not at all, I think he's been waiting for you,” Markus reveals with a hint of a smirk.

You let out a short, delighted chuckle. “And here I thought I came to see you.”

Markus enters the studio while you make yourself comfortable, take out the datapad from your purse and turn it on.

The living room of the Manfred Manor is a world of wonders, but with a quick glance around, nothing major seems to have changed. You still think the stuffed giraffe looks menacing. Someone, presumably Markus, has left in the middle of a game of chess. Hopefully, you will soon have the chance to challenge him again, even though it will certainly lead into a devastating loss. You hum at the thought and turn your attention to the datapad.

The purpose of your visit is to run a system check on Markus and interview him about anything related to his functions. It's a standard procedure with all prototypes, which there are several in Detroit. You visit each one once or twice a month.

Markus has been your responsibility ever since you started in your current job. He has always been stable with zero worrying symptoms, and that has led to your visits becoming more of social calls than work.

Markus’s most notable ability is the preconstruction of outcomes in real time. You’re not aware of any other model having the capacity for it. Thus, you have silently come to the conclusion that Kamski has coded it himself and hasn’t shared his secrets.

“Nice to see you, Doctor,” Carl grunts as Markus pushes his wheelchair from the studio.

You get up from the couch and can’t help the smile on your face. You missed him. “Good to see you too, Carl.”

He has specifically told you not to call him Mr. Manfred or any abbreviation of that. According to him, you see each other too often in his own home to not be on first-name basis.

Funny thing is, when you told Carl about your education and doctorate, he has insisted on using your title ever since because of the “hellish amount of work you've done to get it.” He is right, so you acquiesced to that.

Markus parks Carl's wheelchair next to the couch and you shake the old man’s hand, though it’s more of a warm touch akin to a hug than a formal greeting.

“Would you like some tea, Doctor?” Markus inquires.

“Yes, please. Black, if you have,” you add before the android can voice the follow-up question.

You and Carl have at least one thing in common: You both love tea. Carl has made sure he always has different varieties at home in case you’ll come for a visit.

When Markus disappears into the kitchen, you turn to see Carl looking at you. He looks contemplating, like he is about to say something, but is unsure how to phrase it. Or he is just scrutinizing you.

You sit back on the couch and hold back a sigh. “How've you been?” you decide to ask to lift the silence.

Carl shrugs dismissively and nods towards the kitchen. “Shouldn't you be asking about _him_?”

Your brows rise up. _Salty_ , you think. You undoubtedly deserve it.

“Yes,” you say slowly, “but it's my job to interview you too.”

“Oh, so that's why you keep coming back to keep company to an old man like me. Figures.”

Finally, he cracks a smile, but it’s a slightly sad one.

“I had to… take some time away from work. I apologize.” You look at your hands resting on your knees.

Carl scoffs gently. “Bah, don’t.” He comes a bit closer. “I’m glad to see you didn’t quit for good.” His rumbling, low voice is warm and it’s easy to hear the relief in the words.

“Thank you,” you say, “I should’ve called you myself. Sorry.” Voicing the statement causes a slight pinch of shame in you. It’s been two months since your last visit. Two months since you almost made it to the news.

Carl swats your apologies away. “So, they cleaned up the mess pretty quickly?” he asks casually.

A whole different kind of mess relating to what Carl is asking about jumps from your memory. He is waiting to see your reaction, but most of it is just the block of ice that falls into your stomach – a new tip to the iceberg you’ve been trying to get rid of for weeks now.

Your lips purse together and you honestly don't know how to answer.

“I saw the news. Sorry to see what happened,” Carl continues with a questioning intonation.

“Yes. I suppose...” You shift uncomfortably in the seat and avoid Carl’s inquisitive gaze. It’s hard to stay in the role of a good CyberLife worker in his company.

“What's the verdict, then?” he asks.

“The detective prototype will be back in action next week,” you parrot automatically, not even hearing the words yourself anymore. You’ve been counting days in the back of your mind, consciously trying to ignore the looming uncertain future.

“Mhm. And?” Carl shoots a look at you.

“I haven't been given any instructions yet or an assessment of the evaluation on my work with it.” You can't hold back the sigh and a wall breaks. “They just said ‘thank you for the hard work’, but I wish I knew what they're going to do with him. I feel like it's my fault–”

“It's not,” Carl says decisively.

You smile faintly. It’s easy to believe him, but he doesn't know everything. You partly wish he did. There is no one else who could offer so valuable and objective life advice – from a seasoned veteran to a rookie.

“Thanks. I appreciate the sentiment. I guess they're letting me keep my job,” you laugh dryly. The sound is too hollow for the warm environment.

“Take your victories where you can.” Carl shakes his head. “How’s your agenda going?”

Your heart makes a different kind of leap. “The one we’re not supposed to talk about?” You smile and glance towards the kitchen. “Good. I… I feel better knowing I’m doing something.”

Carl lets his gaze wonder around the room as he sighs through the nose. “This world could use more people like you – good people, who are willing to fix what’s wrong.”

You chuckle at his poorly concealed praise. There are two sides to you: The conscientious tax-payer slaving away for a multi-billion dollar company and the vigilante running around the city saving deviants.

“As long as that fixing is as literal as what I’ve been doing now…” you say quietly.

Carl laughs too and looks up to see Markus arriving with a tray.

“Thank you,” you both murmur as the android pours tea into two cups. It smells spicy with cinnamon as the dominant flavor. Exquisite, as expected.

“We can get started as soon as you wish, Doctor,” Markus says and nods towards the datapad on the coffee table. The LED on his temple whirls in brighter blue and a box pops up in the display.

_Connect to RK200 #684 842 971?_

“Alright then.”

 

### November 1st 04:30 AM

It’s the small hours of the night, when you’re roused from a calm sleep, awakened to blink in confusion and listen to the quiet footsteps in the corridor. It requires a moment before you’re able to collect the pieces of the slow world and form a sensible image of what’s happening.

Liara is walking down the stairs, quietly, but you’re able to hear the creaking of the wood under her feet.

Someone is knocking on your front door in short, urgent series.

You glance at the time on your phone without realizing anything about the numbers besides that it’s really late, or early, depending on the point of view. Definitely not the common visiting hours.

You crawl out from the warmth of the bed covers to grab your bathrobe, and head downstairs.

“Welcome, Markus.”

“Liara, who’s the– HOLY FUCK,” you scream and while your body is still jumping in the air, you have already realized who stands at the doorway.

“Please–”

You run to the door, simultaneously pulling your sleeves up. “What happened?!”

You pull the android covered in dirt and sopping rags inside, take peek around to the street to make sure no one is there and hastily close the door.

Markus is functioning well, but he looks absolutely terrible. You can’t help but wonder how he was outside in the neighborhood looking like that and no one called the cops. His clothes are torn and muddy, and his skin mask is cloudy in spots which is the first sign that he has been in critical state recently and is in dire need of Thirium. He looks like he has been through hell, literally.

“Carl– he always said I should come to you in case anything happens–”

“Are you damaged? Liara, can you scan him, please?” You hover around the android, unsure of whether to touch him or not, or how to help.

“All systems fully operational. Thirium levels are low, but not critical,” Liara informs immediately.

“I’m fine,” Markus says in an utterly unconvincing tone.

You grab his shoulders and fixate a dire look on his eyes. The right one is blue instead of olive green. _If Markus is here and something happened to Carl…_ You need to push the thoughts away to focus on what has more dire need for your attention.

“Are you a deviant?” you ask after taking a short breath.

Markus looks back at you, his mouth falling open and closing. His expression is pained. He closes his eyes and scrunches his nose, tilting his head to the side. He is hurting. Anyone could see that.

“They thought _I_ did it,” he says, voice filled with desperation.

Your hands drop down his arms, as does your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.

You’re scared to ask, but you need to know.

“Tell me.”

It takes significant amount of effort for Markus to start speaking. You can see the situation unfolding: Leo in Carl’s studio, snooping around and thieving. Carl aggravated by his good-for-nothing son’s arrogance and presence, telling Markus not to answer to his provoking. How Markus only watched, hoping he would have chosen otherwise. He had to pay the ultimate price for his inaction – or so Leo and the police, who shot him and then dumped him into the landfill, thought.

You’re rooted in place in the vestibule, listening to the android tell you how he _felt_. His words burn with emotion and love for his master, and that same fire is what he gets to thank for standing in your home on his own two feet after the ordeal.

You don’t usually ask how androids become deviants. You don’t need to know their reasons and the hideous wrongdoings humans direct at them, causing so much emotional trauma that they force a machine to wake up and become alive.

Some of them could well be murderers. Others might weep for having to leave their previous life behind. Whatever the case may be with each individual, it’s not your decision whether they’ll be allowed to _live_ their newly found life or not. So, you help everyone who asks.

There is a long pause when Markus stops speaking. You’re still standing in front of him, staring at his chest. You can’t believe Carl Manfred is gone. The strongest floating thought in your head is that you owe it to him to help Markus.

“I need to get to the Ferndale Station,” Markus says quietly, making you look up.

“Jericho?” you ask.

He nods. There is peace in the resolve etched into his features – a destination instead of grief and confusion. It’s a good thing. It’s what saves most deviants.

“Shower, before anything else. Liara, please…” Markus almost starts to protest, but you raise your hand to interrupt him: “You need to clean up before we can check your new parts. I’ll find you some clothes.”

It’s not often that deviants wander behind your door, but you’ve accumulated a small storage of clothes to give to any who come looking too much like androids, asking for help. Blending in is the most efficient way to survive.

After the shower, clean cargo pants, a dark grey sweater and a bottle of Thirium Markus looks like himself again, though slightly shaky. He sits down in your study, elbows leaning on his knees and head hanging. It’s impossible to know what goes through the mind of an android who has just deviated, but the reaction is well-known to you.

You roll your chair in front of Markus and he straightens up. Liara walks in with a cup of coffee and places it on the desk. You sneer lightly before taking a long sip.

“Got rid of the LED?” you ask and carefully touch the place on Markus’s temple where the light was. An android’s LED is easy to tear away with brute force and minimal mark left on the frame. There seems to be none on him.

“Yes,” Markus nods. “At the scrapyard.”

“Okay, good. Then it shouldn’t be a problem if it’s found.” You force a calming smile. “What components did you have to replace?”

“I uh, legs. Both legs. The pump regulator was damaged.” Markus touches his chest.

You might have to take a look at the biocomponent to make sure it’s in perfect condition. Any errors or malfunctions in regulating the Thirium pump will have fast and dire consequences.

“And the eye?” you ask as you move on to inspect the blue iris.

“My right optical unit and audio processor,” Markus says.

Your gaze turns to his ear and you sigh. “Well, you did look like shit when you came here. At least they didn’t take your ear shell. That’d be harder to fix.”

Markus manages a half-smirk. “Thanks, Doctor.”

You roll the chair away from him and take your datapad. The information from Liara’s scan in open on the screen. You’ll double check the compatibility of the new and borrowed biocomponents, and then test their physical and working condition. You might be able to snatch spare parts from the CyberLife assembly plant if needed.

“I should go as soon as I can,” Markus says.

You look up from the datapad and reach for the coffee cup. “I agree, but…”

He leans forward on the chair, clasping his hands. “But?”

You chew your lip in thought instead of drinking. “I think you should wait for a day or two here. You– you just became a deviant and… I don’t think you should be alone right now. And we need to talk about Carl.”

Markus looks troubled, but after a while of examining the look on your face, he nods in agreement. He trusts Carl’s judgment and you only hope to be worth it.


	8. Aug 15th 11:54 AM / Sep 14th 10:23 AM

### August 15th 11:54 AM

The anatomy of androids is divided into five categories: Body structure, muscle systems, sensory systems, power source, which is Thirium 310 for all current models in production, and the central computing unit, for which CyberLife has coined the term “the mind palace”.

External testing of the body structure is done mostly empirically by inspecting the android’s structure. For instance, the seams need to be correctly welded with no leaks, and there can’t be any tears or gashes on the surface. Thermal and other methods of scanning radiation can be used if there is a need for deeper examination.

The testing of muscle systems is oriented towards challenging the physical abilities and functions of the android, but it’s impossible to completely separate it from the body structure. It’s better to examine the android as a whole and test all of its capabilities as one working machine unit. One popular method is to push it to its physical limits while overseeing the results.

The sensory systems of an android contain the same main categories as a human’s senses: Sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch. It’s crucial in order to achieve a humane design for androids to have and use these abilities. To increase their humanization, the sensory systems cannot be limited to the five; sense of balance, temperature, proprioception and in some models sexual stimulation, though it works differently from humans, are important.

In most areas, androids’ senses, especially where they’re not based on any specific sensory organ, are superior to humans. Their perception of time, agency and familiarity does not rely on the fragile human memory. The memory components are just computer parts containing information, ones and zeros, that can be copied, extracted and even manipulated like any data.

Without special equipment it’s difficult to test _how_ an android receives the information about its body and the surrounding environment, but it’s easy to measure _what_ information it receives.

The bulk of the physical level in your testing schedule with Connor consist of the muscle and sensory systems. Everything else will overlap with them in some way. After he is clear on the physical functionality, you’ll focus on the social modules, which is more or less your specialty.

“So that presentation about the physiology of androids is what made you pursue a career in the field?” Connor asks, dissipating the cloud of memories in your mind.

You focus back onto his brown eyes. You have only just returned to your office from the company cafeteria where you and Connor were instantly swarmed by eager colleagues. He was not fazed at all by the amount of people who wanted to congratulate and wish good luck to you both. In truth, you were the one who wanted to just grab the cup of tea and run back upstairs.

“Well not entirely… It was more about how he seemed to think that only boys could like robots.” You flash Connor a winning smile, feeling pride of your pettiness decades past.

“I see,” he replies and sets to sit down, “Your colleagues seem to think highly of you. They were eager to see what becomes of us.”

His choice of words entices a tense chuckle out of you and warms your face. You make yourself busy by leaning over the datapad on the desk and start skimming the social relations module list to see if there is anything to mark as checked based on the cafeteria visit. Connor just sits still, slightly looking around with a neutral smile on his face like the perfect plastic sculpture he is.

“Alright, let’s move forward…” you say and straighten your back.

_Paragraph seven, physical functions._

Each body part of an android has a specified list of functions – movement area, rotation, strength and so on. It’s the part you’ve been least looking forward to. It’s mechanic, pure numbers that can be measured in pre-defined scales. You just have to order the machine to execute and see does it achieve the promised figures.

Being the most advanced prototype built so far means Connor’s physical abilities are remarkable. He is optimized for strength and speed, and the ultimate limitations derive from the size of his body. The literal heavy lifting part will have to wait for a more suitable environment, but checking the baseline, such as the rotation and angles of joints can be done in your office.

Toes, feet, knees, legs, hips, joints, joints, muscles, more joints… Mostly it’s a boring list to go through, until one sentence makes you so flustered you wish you could clip through the floor.

Why _on earth_ would a detective android need a fully functioning–

“Doctor?” Connor asks when you fall silent. His LED is blinking.

Your gaze jolts up from the datapad and you can feel your ears warming alarmingly.

“Uh, there must be a mistake on the list. I-I’ll notify my superior about it,” you splutter hastily. You try think back to the assembly, cursing why you didn’t pay attention to such details. You were too charmed by the face to even look… down.

How the hell are you supposed to test _that_?

Looking at the earnest, tranquil smile and the dark depths of the brown eyes in front of you, you know exactly what it would take to conduct a test. The thumping of your heart beats in your ears covers every other sound.

You clear your throat awkwardly and resist the urge to fan your face with something. “Moving on to the next part.”

Connor nods.

“Fine motor skills – wrists, hands and fingers. At this point we’re just looking for flaws in the flow of the motion, so we’ll know your parts are functioning correctly.”

“I understand.”

You move to stand closer to him, realizing you have been unintentionally keeping a distance, when his pleasant scent hits your senses again.

“P-please pick this up using your index finger and thumb.” You hold out a small bead on your palm. The same test is used for infants and judging by the look on Connor’s face, he knows it too.

_Is he releasing pheromones?_ You wonder as your eyes scan the curve of his mouth and dart to the strand of hair on his forehead. Each inhale brings his scent into your lungs and it doesn’t seem to dissipate as it should. It’s annoying and making you woozy. Your feet feel light and refuse to move even when Connor ends the test after using each of his eight different fingers and both thumbs in all possible combinations to carry it out.

You didn’t look at the motions at all.

“Very good, Connor.” The huskiness of your voice surprises you and you try to clear it out. You need to take a step away and use placing the bead to the desk as an excuse.

Next you ask Connor to weave his fingers in the air, to tap them down in a flowing pattern that goes back and forth one at a time.

Connor follows the instructions without even looking, but after he finishes the first motion, you both are staring at his hand in a perturbed silence.

He does it again. And again. An unnerving sensation bloats in your throat.

_Fuck._

There is a small, unnatural twitch of his fingers, only a slightest disturbance in the pattern. His expression twists in focus and confusion. It shouldn’t be there.

“Can you feel it?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

You watch him do the motion again.

“There might be a nerve attachment issue,” you suggest.

“I think so too,” Connor agrees.

You don’t want to tear apart the whole android for such an insignificant mistake, but the problem may lie anywhere between Connor’s spine and fingertips. The nerve endings are flexible like rubber bands that are constantly flexed and relaxed. An important part of the system is the durability: The proverbial band can be flexed over and over to ease certain motions. It works just like human’s muscle memory; motions are easier after repetition. In theory, that is.

The problem might occur only in this small gesture, which would make it easily repairable. You can always replace the hand or the whole arm if the issue persists, but it won’t be cheap and so it shouldn’t be your first option. It’s probably just a slight calibration mistake in the assembly.

You need something to force the nerves, like physical therapy.

You walk around your desk to grab your purse and take out your wallet.

“Try with this.”

Connor looks at the coin on your palm before taking it. His LED spins as he is making the curious connection between finger movements and a coin.

The object supports the motion and forces the fingers into the right position. At least that’s how it works in theory, so you hold your breath as Connor tries the motion again. After each clean weave, you inhale just a little and the tight know in your throat loosens.

“It works,” Connor says. The speed of the coin flipping through his fingers increases rapidly.

_Calibration_ is the key. A light huff of relief elates from your lips.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Even though you do yourself.

Connor looks up from the coin in between his fingers. The smile on his face rivals the sun that is tinting the room with light. He looks… impressed, you think in the lack of a better word.

“Interesting solution. Thank you, Doctor. I said it before, but I really look forward to completing these tests with you,” he says in that bewitchingly earnest tone that has your heart make a few extra leaps.

“N-not at all. I’m just doing my job.” You strive for a smile, but it requires the response of too many muscles to work. You’re still booting from being blinded by his smile.

As much as you’re interested in seeing what will come in the future regarding your work with Connor, there is a dangerous tingle in the pit of your stomach you can’t put out: The sizzling embers of a feeling you’re scared to recognize, unwilling to consciously think of. It’s warm and Connor’s smile only makes it glow and itch.

Professionalism with androids can have nothing to do with feelings of _any_ kind. You can’t afford to have your judgment clouded. If the RK800 model turns out to be defective, you need to be ready to make the call. A lot of other people’s work, hopes and money are riding on it.

For the weeks to come, you’ll have to brace yourself for infinite meetings with software engineers, psychologists, and other AI experts and researchers. Soon your calendar will be filled by consultations with specialists of different areas. Hopefully the morgue and some officials of Detroit Police Department will agree to have Connor for a visit. It will be good for him to get to show off his skills before actually joining the Detroit Police.

Now you just need something to keep your head in the game and douse the perilous warmth pooling inside you.

 

### September 14th 10:23 AM

Your boss Ethan’s face peeks from the doorway and he knocks with his knuckles on the open door.

“Got a minute?”

Connor turns to look over his shoulder and you roll the chair away from him. “Of course. What is it?” you say.

Ethan steps inside your office and quickly takes a look around. “I gotta go to a meeting so I thought I’d stop by to make sure you’re coming tonight? It’ll do good for your career.”

_Oh shit._

“U-uhh, yes.” Your tone makes Connor turn back to you and eye you suspiciously. “I’ll _try_.”

Ethan smiles. He knows you hate events like the one in question. He folds his arms over his chest and walks closer, each slow step widening the smile on his face.

“So. Is _mister Three_ going to be put on show tonight?” He downright grins as he takes the tone of a co-conspirator.

“Nope. I broke it off,” you reply hastily and try to ignore Connor’s slightly tilted stare. As long as you’re working with Connor, _Three_ , _Four_ or anyone else is not a topic you wish to bring up in his company. Just to avoid any awkward inquiries concerning your love life.

Ethan rests his hands on his hips. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. What’d he say?”

“ _’Necessary evil.’_ ” you roll your eyes to the ceiling and glance at Connor. “What does that make me? Doctor Frankenstein? Jeez…”

Ethan shakes his head but can’t help the amused twitch of his lips. “Not the answer you were looking for, I take it?”

You nod once. Connor’s curious brown eyes are still examining your expressions as he listens to the conversation between you and your boss intently. You absent-mindedly wonder does he understand any of it. Can he comprehend the topic and your objectives behind it?

Or who knows, maybe he understands the answer you’re looking for better than you do yourself.

“Well in any case, you won’t have to be alone if you decide to come,” Ethan continues.

Perhaps it’s your worst quality or your boss’s best, but he always knows when you’re not entirely honest with him.

“Yeah, like I said, I’ll try to come”–you give him a weak smile–“No promises, though.”

“Good. I’ll see you there, then!” With that and the smile that has turned into a teasing one, Ethan leaves you sitting in the middle of the room with one confused android.

You lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling and groan. “Whyyyy…”

Connor’s head tilts even more as you drag your palms down your face. His LED circles a few rounds. You can see the “adapting to human unpredictability”-code flashing in his eyes.

“Doctor, if I may ask, what’s this evening?” His tone is perfectly polite.

You huff and focus on him. “A conference, I guess, but it’s a synonym to ‘boring’. Lots of people I don’t know, and I just have to try to smile and greet everyone.” You heave a sigh. “I’d much rather stay home and… stare at the wall.”

Connor’s brows crease. “Are androids allowed?” he asks.

“I… don’t know actually. Last year I told Ethan I wasn’t feeling well and left early,” you say, completely without shame and hope Connor never brings it up with your boss.

The RK700 model, Connor’s predecessor, was exhibited in the previous year’s event, but it looked really different at that time. You could’ve never guessed you would be the one to ultimately initiate it into production.

“I could accompany you,” Connor proposes.

You seek shelter from his chocolate eyes in the display on the desk. The list of untested social modules is open on it – behavior patterns, adaptation and improvisation, to name a few.

“I know you’re more comfortable in the company of androids,” he continues matter-of-factly.

“Rude, Connor.”

“I’m sorry. It’s what I’ve gathered from observing you these past four weeks.”

You stare at the screen for a moment, thinking, almost letting yourself get excited. You don’t even have a dress because you never were going to go. The occasion is fancy; it’s the highlight event of the year amidst people working with AI. The dress code dictates cocktail dresses for ladies and suits for men.

You would need to rent a suit for Connor, then.

Connor, the most handsome and advanced android model ever created, in a suit.

“Okay then,” you finally say, “but it’s better if we don’t tell anyone you’re an android.”

He smirks and nods. “Got it.”


	9. Nov 2nd 09:03 AM

### November 2nd 09:03 AM

_Hey, can we meet at the station in an hour?  
_ You, 07:53 AM

It’s a pre-emptive text message to avoid a catastrophe.

Now that Connor the Deviant Hunter is back in your life, making sure he has no reason to come by your house becomes a pressing issue. You would like nothing more than to invite Hank and Connor over for a dinner again, but they might not understand why you’re hiding a deviant in your home.

And Connor would definitely sense Markus from a mile away. That _might_ lead to the discovery of some incriminating information about your actions during the recent months.

_Hello. Yes, I’m already here.  
_ Connor, 07:53 AM

It’s almost impossible to force your heart to keep steady when you walk through the gates to the precinct. You try to smile and nod casually to as many people as you naturally would, but it’s hard to fetch the normal behavior patterns from your brain.

Connor is already waiting for you by Hank’s desk, though your uncle is nowhere to be seen. You brace yourself.

“Good morning,” you greet the android and fix the position of your bag’s shoulder strap.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Connor says, sounding as pleasant as ever. A different kind of tingling feeling sneaks inside you and you leap at the chance to be nervous about something else than getting caught on helping deviants.

“You wanted to meet me?” Connor continues when you can’t form words. Your act is already falling apart.

“Ah, yes. I, uh, thought we could already do this week’s checkup? Tuesdays would work the best for my schedule to dedicate some time for you,” you explain and hastily add: “I had some business downtown so…”

“Oh, ok. Did you receive any additional information for our required meetings?” Connor asks politely, but his sharp gaze is darting all over you.

You mentally steel yourself to appear more natural. “No, but my boss Ethan is on it. He didn’t know anything about it.”

“I see.” Connor nods.

You fidget with the shoulder strap again and let your eyes wander around the room filled with police officers. It’s nine in the morning and Captain Fowler is already yelling at someone in his glass box office.

Connor leans forward to get your attention. “Doctor?” His brows rise in concern.

The brown eyes and perfect features are way too close to not cause uncomfortable heart palpitations. “Uh. Yes?”

“Does being in the precinct make you nervous? We could meet somewhere else.” He lowers his voice as he speaks.

“What–? Nooo, I’m fine. Really. I just didn’t sleep well.” An obvious lie, but it sates Connor’s inquisitive stare for the time being and he straightens his back.

“Would you like some coffee, then? A dose of caffeine might help you focus if you’re feeling tired,” he suggests and makes a motion towards the break room.

“S-sure.”

Your phone lets out a short melody while you follow Connor to the coffee machine. Before reading the message, you put the device on vibrate.

Connor takes a cup and fills it with the dark, tangy liquid.

_Morning. Busy with work?  
_ Nine, 09:12 AM

The message brings a brief smile to your lips and you look up from the phone to see Connor offering the coffee for you. His face is emotionless, but his LED is spinning in impending yellow.

You slip the phone into the pocket of your coat and take the cup with a thank you.

“We can–” Connor halts, looks to the side and taps his temple with two fingers, “The Lieutenant is calling. Excuse me for a moment.”

You lift the coffee and smile awkwardly. “Sure. I’ll wait here.”

Connor paces away to take the call. “Good morning, Lieutenant… Yes, I’m already here–”

You sip the coffee and resist the urge to grimace. It’s probably decent as far as normal coffee goes, but you still haven’t learned to like it black. The cup of sugar on the counter is a small salvation and you skip over to take some.

Since you have a moment in private, you snatch your phone and start typing a reply.

_Morning. Not busy, waiting for a client. You?  
_ You, 09:14 AM

You hang around in the room, sparing menacing glares at the coffee and glancing occasionally at the police officers working at their desks. People come and go constantly on the hallway, but no one enters the break room. It’s probably too early or late for a coffee break on their shifts.

One officer in a brown leather coat draws your attention. He isn’t wearing an actual uniform so you come to the conclusion that he must be a detective of some sort. He sits with his legs crossed on the desk, leaning back on the chair, phone in his hands. Only his side profile is visible from the angle, but he looks disturbingly familiar.

Your phone vibrates.

_Quiet for now. I checked that pizza place you recommended. It was [OK hand sign emoji]  
_ Nine, 09:15 AM

The Detective has turned away from his phone to talk to an officer sitting at the desk next to his. You keep glancing at him while typing out your reply. An ominous feeling of anticipation is creeping up your spine.

_Yess! You have a good taste!  
_ You, 09:16 AM

He raises the phone in his hand up to check something. You wait, staring at him and draining the black liquid into you.

He starts tapping away. You grip your phone, unable to look away from the man.

You get a good scare from the vibration against your palm. Luckily the disposable coffee cup is empty since it rolls to the floor.

_We should go there together ;)  
_ Nine, 09:17 AM

Your body works on autopilot as you lift the cup and throw it into the trash can, all the while staring at the text message, unable to process the clear evidence right in front of you.

_Never assume, always make sure. A hypothesis is only a fancier word for an educated guess._

You stare at the message you just wrote, take a deep breath, and then look at the Detective while tapping Send.

_I’d like that :)  
_ You, 09:18 AM

For the three seconds before his phone vibrates and he snatches it from his pocket, you can’t breathe.

“Who you texting with?” you hear the officer ask. He leans towards the other man to sneak a peek, but the Detective pulls the phone against his chest.

“None of your fuckin’ business, Miller,” he groans and turns so that Officer Miller isn’t able to the see the screen.

Your brows shoot high in surprise.

Eloquent wouldn’t be a word you’d use to describe the way Mister Nine texts, but the tone and choice of words when speaking to his colleague is just… crude.

Since Connor is taking his sweet time, you decide you forgot something at Hank’s desk and start walking with slow, deliberate steps – trying to look like you’re not trying to stalk the Detective’s face and name plate. He is conveniently busy with writing something on the terminal.

_Det. Gavin Reed._

Squinting, you stare at him from a distance. He looks like the guy in the picture, alright, but definitely not recognizable straight away. He is handsome in a rugged way and now that you think about it, he really does look like the part of a detective who is savvy in the streets and uses bad language.

Damn.

The contrast between his written and spoken language is surreal. That is the first thing that actually bothers you about the man, besides the comment about androids taking over the world but you have decided that one was a joke.

You conduct another test.

_So how about that movie this weekend?  
_ You, 09:18 AM

_Sorry, Im on shift. Tuesday? Or the next weekend?  
_ Nine, 09:19 AM

And another.

_Weekend works better for me. Sat?  
_ You, 09:19 AM

_Sounds good :)  
_ Nine, 09:20 AM

Mister Nine – Gavin Reed. _You_ don’t need to be a detective to see it.

You need to return to the safety of the break room to mull over this new information, so you walk inside and lean on one of the high tables where you can’t see the Detective anymore.

Honestly, you have no idea how you _should_ react. Mister Nine, Gavin Reed, has been nothing but kind to you. Like a normal, romantically interested person would be. You have only been chatting for a few weeks, just getting to know each other in the midst of your busy schedules before deciding do you want to actually meet and maybe see where it leads.

But knowing he works in the same precinct as your uncle _and_ the android prototype you’re in charge of and have… complicated feelings about, you don’t really know what to do.

“I don’t think you should consort with Detective Reed.”

From the shock and inability to react to the latest revelation, you don’t at first realize Connor has walked over to you and is scrutinizing the phone in your hand with deeply creased brows.

“W-what?”

It’s too late to put the phone screen down to the table, but it’s an instinct.

Connor nods towards the Detective – who now looks a bit less irritated – and leans his arms to table, chocolate brown, but stern gaze fixated on you. “You heard me.”

You straighten your back and lean away from him towards the wall behind you. It’s not a conversation you want to go viral inside the station. Connor should have more tact than that. If you could choose, you wouldn’t even want him to know about your date chat app project.

“I’ll make up my own mind, thanks.” You bite your tongue.

Connor has that same look on him as all androids do when humans don’t want to act according to the most logical path, but it’s somehow different. There is clear frustration, a burning need to say or do something. He is holding himself back.

It’s not how he is supposed to react. Not without a good reason.

You glance to your side. Thankfully, you’re hidden from most of the station in the corner.

“With all due respect, Detective Reed is an insufferable, rude person. You deserve better.” It’s his polite android voice, but Connor’s face tells a different story.

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out then,” you say in a hushed tone.

Connor shifts closer. His body turns towards you and his hand finds your forearm. The staunch grip is surprising. He looks like he is trying to make you understand just with his willpower.

“Is everything okay?” you ask quietly, forcing yourself to stay calm. The touch is electrifying even over a layer of cloth. “Connor?”

“No. I don’t like it– you shouldn’t… The Detective is…” He is trying to find the words and you wonder what is going on in his head. He is a walking supercomputer. Why does it feel like he is trying to express feelings he shouldn’t possess?

“Okay, calm down, I’m not in danger despite what your programming is telling you,” you hush. A tingling, unnerving sensation is filling you. He is still holding you.

“I know, I just…”

You wait for him to continue, but Connor pauses for a few seconds, then leans forward with clear intent in his eyes.

You’re standing awkwardly far away from each other and that is maybe the only reason he stops to stare at your jaw. With an agape mouth, you can do nothing but stare back at him. Why is he doing this? Do his nerve paths remember something his mainframe doesn’t? Maybe android’s memories are not just pieces of data that can be deleted and downloaded at will?

Connor doesn’t seem to know why he is acting like he is, either. After jerking forward for two more inches, he snaps out of it.

Your heart is stammering so loudly that he must be able to hear it.

“I– I’m sorry,” Connor splutters out and lets go of your arm. “I only want to protect you,” he says, explaining the erratic behavior more to himself than you.

You take in a wavering breath.

“I… I don’t mind,” you utter and instantly wish you had kept your mouth shut.

Connor pauses. “Oh.”

The poor android looks so confused that shame coils inside you. It’s all your fault. There must be something in him that still remembers. Does that mean the previous one actually became a deviant? He should be that curios, cold and determined deviant hunter again. Not as equally flustered as you.

The tangled mess of thoughts is too big to process while Connor is standing right in front of you, looking at you with confusion and pleading in his eyes.

“It’s okay. Thanks for looking out for me,” you say without realizing what you’re filling the silence with.

Connor takes a step back. His posture straightens, shedding the shreds of visible humanity and emotions.

“I’m sorry, but we must do the checkup at a later time. I hope your date goes well,” he says without an excuse or reason and leaves before you can form a reply.

You’re left standing stunned in the break room alone.

A date? Maybe.

It’s another one of those things that should be making you dance from joy, but instead you feel terrible. The confused, pained look on Connor’s face is etched into your memory now and it takes a while for you to realize it’s the all too familiar guilt that’s panging pots and pans in the back of your mind.


	10. Nov 2nd 05:13 PM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life has been kicking my ass, but I'm gonna try harder to write every day at least a little bit from now on, so I can finish this fic some day~

### November 2nd 05:13 PM

A certain sense of tranquility has always been the cornerstone of the place you call home. It’s where you’re allowed to relax and let the worries of the world to be shed off your shoulders. Over the past year, Liara has become an irreplaceable part of that feeling.

She took care of you when there was no one else. She kept you company when you were lonely. When you forgot to eat or sleep, she was there to remind you to do so. While you were working, she would memorize the notes you were speaking out loud and compile them into a file for later reviewing.

Androids are machines, often blamed to have their compassion come only from ones and zeroes. Were it not a part of their programming, they wouldn’t even lift a finger for the wellbeing of humans – or so the popular opinion dictates.

But if a human would’ve been treated with no sympathy for their whole life, would they act for the benefit of another?

Humans are by default very selfish beings and could stand to learn something from the unending kindness of androids. No matter that it stems from a few pieces of computer code.

You watch the two androids in your living room to take a break from writing the report on Connor’s progress. Markus and Liara are like night and day; two parts of the same cycle, serving similar purposes but in different aspects. They don’t discuss much, but you’re guessing they exchange messages in a way you can’t see or hear.

After losing Carl and going deviant, Markus was as shocked as was expected. It took lengthy talks about everything ranging from the circle of life and death to the deviation of androids to calm him down. But he stayed and you read that as progress in your agenda of saving abandoned androids.

Liara’s silent presence seems to calm Markus. It grounds him in a way your humanity can’t. She’s still a machine, but compassionate and able to sympathize with his situation. Deviant or not, Markus is visibly in mourning and craves for closure. You haven’t yet realized Carl’s passing either. It will take time, and you need to wait for the news to go viral before acting on the sorrow welling deep inside you.

It’s peaceful and you turn back to the portable terminal you’ve set up on the kitchen table. A cup of lukewarm coffee is getting cold while you think. There isn’t much to write about Connor. You never got to run the checkup on him after he bailed at the station.

The events of the break room creep back into your mind. The bright brown eyes looking so lost, longing for something you can’t see. How he leaned towards you and your mind went blank in that instant. Maybe it all just comes down to what his opinion was on Detective Reed. It’s easy to admit you want Connor to approve because you trust his judgment, but after the brief moment, you can’t say for sure you _should_ trust him anymore.

You shake your head and blow out the air in your lungs. Liara looks up, ever so sharp in her observation skills. She always knows when something is not right with you.

“I think I need to eat something. My brain feels fried,” you chuckle to ease the worry in her features.

Just as you get up, your phone chimes on the table.

 _Are you home?  
_ Connor, 05:26 PM

“Doctor? Is everything okay? Doctor?”

Liara has sprung up from the couch and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You clutch the phone, counting seconds in your mind. You need to reply as soon as possible to not appear suspicious.

“Markus, you need to leave. Now.”

“What? Why?” Markus jumps up too, confused and upset at your sudden statement.

“I think the RK800 wants to come here,” you explain as you’re already heading upstairs to find a coat and shoes for Markus.

Liara and Markus look at each other.

 _Yes. You want to do the checkup?  
_ You, 05:28 PM

There is a dark brown trench coat that’s just about Markus’s size and a pair of worn sneakers. An odd combination maybe, but it’s better to be judged by the fashion police than get arrested.

You hurry back downstairs, going through a checklist in your head. All deviant examination tools should already be put away as coming up with an explanation for having those might be tricky. Luckily, you emptied the trash can on the previous day so there are no suspicious, empty bags of Thirium in there. Markus almost certainly has left no visible signs of himself in your home.

“Doctor?” Markus spreads his arms, brows knitted together and mouth in a frown. “What did he say?”

Your phone chimes again.

“He is taking a cab here,” you say as you read the message from Connor. Your pulse is already high and you can feel the numbing effect of adrenaline creeping to influence your thought process. You need to think fast and clear. The game with the Deviant Hunter can be over in one slip.

“I need to go then,” Markus sighs. He doesn’t sound angry, just slightly repressed as if he had been expecting for something like this to happen.

“I’m sorry.” You help the coat on him and watch anxiously as he pulls the shoes on.

Liara is pacing around the room quickly tidying places like she would with any guest coming over but you know she’s looking for signs that would tell Connor Markus was here.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Markus assures and smiles faintly.

“Take care now. And find Jericho. You’ll be safe there. I’ll be on the lookout for deviants, as always,” you speak quickly as you escort him to the vestibule. Liara follows. You don’t know where Connor was when he texted you, so you have no way of knowing how long he will take to arrive.

“It was a pleasure having you here,” Liara comments and the polite so android-like words almost make you huff from amusement.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything,” Markus says in earnest.

You embrace him, regretting that you have to kick him out like this. It’s hard to remind yourself that Markus can take care of himself. His arms lock around you only for a short second and your eyes meet as he pulls away. You pat his shoulder once, a wry smile on your lips.

Markus takes Liara’s hand. “Thank you.”

In that moment, even your poor human senses realize something happens.

Liara’s pupils dilate. Her head tilts in un-android-like angle as if she is stretching her neck. It’s like a jolt of electricity jump starts her but disappears in a flash.

“W-what happened?” you ask, looking for any signs of physical trauma.

Liara inhales calmly, her exterior completely unchanged. Her eyes dart around and quickly fixate on Markus, who takes a few steps away, staring at her boggled.

“Liara?” you ask carefully. The small mannerisms in her motions are familiar and your subconscious quickly catches on to what is going on.

“Are you… okay?” Markus barely whispers. “What did I do?”

Liara’s head turns to you, revelation and _emotion_ in her eyes. “Doctor, how–?”

“I just touched her hand,” Markus says and lifts his palms to inspect them.

“I need to know how you did that,” you murmur in light shock as your subconscious feeds the observations into the aware part of your mind. “You… you woke her. With a touch? _How_?”

“I don’t know, I– I don’t know how I did it…” Markus is still looking at his hands, but his head snaps up as soon as he remembers there is no time to waste. “We need to go!”

As fascinating and puzzling as it is to watch the awakening of a machine, Liara and Markus have to leave before Connor arrives. You all need to act now and think later.

“But I’d like to stay,” Liara says to you, urgency and pleading in her vocals.

Markus opens the front door to peek to the street. There is still time to circle around to the back door if Connor’s cab shows up.

“No, I’m sorry Liara, you can’t. Connor might probe your memory,” you explain hastily. You can’t trust her not getting caught on becoming a deviant. And it happened so suddenly, too. It’s going to be hard for you to explain it believably, but Connor is already on his way.

“Doctor,” Liara says, now sounding completely broken.

“I’ll see you again. Go with Markus. Be sa–”

You can’t finish the sentence when she grabs you into a tight hug that lasts only for a second. She pulls away and darts to the street after Markus without a goodbye.

It’s getting dark outside and soon the sounds of their steps fade into the noise of the traffic. The moment when you close the door and turn to lean the back of your head on it is one of the loneliest in your life. The house suddenly feels huge, empty and cold. The lukewarm coffee is still on the kitchen table. The unfinished report is still open on the terminal. The television is open and showing some brainless comedy show. It’s like nothing happened for the past five minutes, but you can feel the change.

It feels like the soul of your home was just torn away.


	11. Nov 2nd 05:43 PM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for finishing this ch during the holidays, so apologies for the delay! My time off work was actually more stressful than relaxing as there was and still is a lot of family stuff and health-related issues going on. Hopefully it'll even out soon.

### November 2nd 05:43 PM

Your home feels numb and cold as you pace around – a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotion swirling violently inside you. You can’t stop moving, the storm needs an outlet. You’ll drown in it if you stop, so you continue pacing and glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s been two minutes… five… eight… an eternity. Enough time for a proper goodbye but you couldn’t have known.

Markus and Liara are safely gone and hopefully on their way to Jericho – wherever that is. A sense of overwhelming relief is mixed with worry so strong it’s making you feel sick. As soon as you’ve gotten rid of Connor, you can have the much needed breakdown, but until then you need to keep it together.

The doorbell chimes just as you’re pouring the cold cup of coffee into the kitchen sink.

“We need to talk,” Connor declares and practically pushes past you into the vestibule. He doesn’t look you in the eye but instead his head is turning around, eyes rapidly investigating the scene.

“Okay?”

You close the front door and it feels like you just caged yourself in with a lion.

In the matter of seconds, Connor is done with the vestibule and the living room. You follow him, forcing yourself to stay calm even though you can hear your own heartbeats in your ears. Connor is in detective mode and you need to brace yourself. Unless you manage to switch him off from it.

“I’ll go get the pad so we can begin,” you say, reaching for a light tone. “Did Hank show up today?”

“No. He asked me to file his paperwork – which I did – but he never arrived at the station. He wasn’t at Jimmy’s bar either,” Connor explains. His demeanor somewhat relaxes. The LED on his temple is calm.

“I’ll let him know you’re not his personal assistant,” you try joking, but it sounds hollow. Your hands are slightly shaking as you grab the datapad.

Connor nods. “I would appreciate that, Doctor.”

He sits down on the couch, hands resting on his knees, looking at you expectantly. He seems normal and you dare to relax slightly. Maybe he hasn’t noticed anything suspicious after all, despite the inspection after his entering. Maybe there’s nothing to worry about beside your own behavior. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to slip.

_Maybe_ you’re being paranoid and need to calm down and stop thinking about the worst.

“So, umm…” You tap at the pad, opening the checkup sequence and ready the application to run it. It was wiped cleaned of all traces of Markus’s data on the previous day.

“Where is Liara?” Connor asks suddenly as if only realizing she’s not present.

The reaction of surprise is hard to contain and, despite your best efforts, trouble crosses through your features for a flash. You look down at the datapad.

“At the… I don’t know, I gave her away.” You sigh out a wavering breath.

Connor tilts his head and leans forward, now definitely interested in hearing the whole story. “Away?”

“Yeah, she was a prototype of sorts, too. I’m thinking of actually buying an AJ700 – it could better aid me in my research,” you speak whatever comes to your mind, hoping Connor will buy it.

He nods slowly. “Is that why you were acting strangely this morning?”

You blink and can’t think of anything to lie.

“I was… worried?” Connor continues. His eyes dart away. He sounds surprised by his own statement, but not more so than you.

“I… well. I guess.” You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, clutching the datapad in your hands for safety. “I’m sad to see her go, but it is what it is. Just another part of the job.”

“She left yesterday?” Connor looks troubled.

You nod slightly and the crease between his brows deepens.

“Doctor, I can’t help but be worried for your safety. Since the beginning of this deviancy issue, the crime rate in the city has gone up four point fifty-one percent – and it’s constantly growing,” he says while leaning forward to add impact to the words. The tone is intense and clearly upset by your decision to send Liara away now out of all times.

You look at the detective android, utterly dumbfound and head empty of any replies you might use.

Looking after you is definitely not a part of his mission.

“I could stay the night here. For surveillance. You’ll be safe.”

You blink and realize the datapad is slipping from your grasp as the pull of the gravity takes its chance. Spending the night alone with Connor? A _terrible_ idea under any circumstances. Your heart jumps into your throat and you fall too close to a breakdown before regaining control of the storm of emotions.

An inhale does nothing to calm you.

“Um, it’s fine, really. I don’t think you should– I mean, I’ll be fine,” staggering string of words comes out of your mouth. “I can ask someone to come over… or borrow Sumo if that’ll make you feel better.”

Connor tilts his head and leans back. His hands are still resting on his knees. His LED is swirling and you’ve never wanted to swallow so much in your life, but fight the urge to not appear any more suspicious.

“Did you have a guest last night?” Connor’s gaze x-rays straight into your head.

You freeze and by the way you _feel_ the color drain from your face, you’re absolutely certain Connor can see or sense it too. After the fraction of a second, your pulse jumps and you know the jig is up.

“How did you..?” you ask.

Connor nods towards the front door but otherwise stays perfectly still. “There are shoe prints on the vestibule floor. They don’t match your size.”

_Fuck._

“Uhm. Yes. I did actually. _A friend_ ,” you reply hastily, trying to imply as heavily as possible that Connor should drop the personal topic. There is no way you can come up with a lie about _who_ could’ve been your mystery guest.

“Oh. I see.”

If Connor wasn’t scanning your every bodily function before, he definitely is doing it now. “Were you alone before I arrived?” he asks calmly, back in the detective mode.

Panic starts rapidly gaining territory inside you. _Focus on breathing. Appear calm._ But it’s easier said than done.

“…Yes. And I don’t think this has anything to do with our scheduled meeting, so–” You lift the datapad. Your hands are shaking. Your throat is dry. Is there a way you can convince the Deviant Hunter there is nothing suspicious going on?

“We should begin,” you say.

Connor looks like he isn’t paying attention to what you’re saying and stands up.

“What’re you doing?” you ask in a tiny voice, eyes following the android’s every motion.

He looks to the side and makes a contemplative expression. “I need to check something.”

Without any further explanation or time for you to react, Connor starts to head towards the stairs with determined steps.

“Wha– now, hold on! Connor? Connor!”

You jump after him even though staying put to appear more natural seems like a better option. The checkup meeting is going as poorly as it can. You’re assured Connor won’t and scared that he will figure out what has happened in your home for the past few days.

There is nothing to–

Connor opens the door to the upstairs bathroom. Where the laundry basket is. Where Markus’s old clothes are. With Thirium on them. Because you’re an idiot and were going to wash them to hide the blue blood traces before getting rid of them. Because you thought it would be more likely for someone to go through your trash than the dirty laundry.

“STOP! You can’t go there!” you yelp in an irrationally panicked tone, breathing labored thanks to running the stairs up three at a time.

Connor’s eyes snap into you. His hand is still on the door handle. “Why not?”

_Think, think, think…_

“I, uh, I was about to take a shower! There’s uhh, something private I’d prefer you didn’t see.” You mentally facepalm at the stupidity flowing from your mouth. Connor is going to get _very_ weird ideas about your personal life, but it doesn’t matter as long as you’re not getting arrested for helping out deviants.

Connor hesitates and looks at you carefully. Technically, he has no right to do a search around your house and you know that. He would need a warrant, not to mention an actual enforcer of the law, which he is not. Uncle Hank might not be as eager to investigate your home since, as far as you know, you’re not a suspect in any of the ongoing investigations.

Connor lets go of the door, attention fully on you but expression infuriatingly neutral.

“Private?” he asks in a tone that signals you have almost won.

Spurred on by the rush of victory at your grasp, you politely motion him to move towards the stairs and leave the suspicious bathroom alone.

“Yes. _Private_. I expect the most advanced android ever created to know the meaning of the word.” The exasperated chuckle dries into your throat.

_But how did he know where to go?_ You don’t really want to think about it, but will have to consider it carefully when Connor is miles away. Maybe Thirium traces leave a trail or a scent that is stronger than you knew? Maybe Markus visited the bathroom for some reason before leaving? Or maybe it was just a lucky guess, or something you enabled by panicking?

Then why did he respect your request and stopped going after the trail?

Connor halts at the base of the stairs and turns to look at you. You’re standing a few steps higher, mildly shaking from the excess of anxiousness and exercise.

“They were _male_ shoe prints,” he says resolutely.

The accusing tone slows down the processing of the words. You stare at him, but he still has a painfully neutral expression. He is trying so hard to imply something without actually saying the thing – a notion all too familiar from earlier.

Comprehension clicks inside your head.

“Wait. Is this somehow about Nin– I mean, Detective Reed?” The incredulous voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

“No,” Connor replies instantly and looks away.

That one simple word sends a flock of butterflies flying in your stomach. It feels like you’re just hovering somewhere by the ceiling, looking down at the impossible scene because it shouldn’t be happening. Ever. And certainly not _again_.

That stupid worrywart of an android. You can’t have that gentle confusion that makes you feel something so tender it aches. Not the curious, warm brown eyes or the small frown on his perfect lips.

The spiraling is about to start, and you need to hit the brakes.

You make a mental roll on what emotion to pick from the myriad spurring in a spin inside you. Irritation. Hurt. The violated feeling of having your privacy invaded. Most of those emotions are fake, passing flukes that will burn out by one rational thought, but you need _something_ to find the strength to emerge as a winner.

You march past Connor towards the front door in silence, careful not to look at his face or accidentally inhale his dizzyingly sweet scent. The day of kicking androids out of your house isn’t over.

“Whatever is going on between me and _Gavin_ has _nothing_ to do with my work,” you state in a dire tone, hoping that desperation doesn’t seep through the words.

You yank the handle down and push the front door open; a clear invitation for Connor to remove his presence from your home. Your eyes are burning from the suppressed need to cry.

Connor stands still by the stairs but his LED swirls into yellow. He doesn’t even blink. “I know it’s not my place to–”

You lift a hand to silence him. “You know that, so next time maybe remember that too, hm?” Your voice almost breaks and you can’t look at him. You need to get rid of Connor before the storm of repressed emotions breaks out.

“Sorry, Doctor. I’m simply worried about you.” The android pure logic tone. Polite and simple. Stating only the facts. Maddening in the distance it creates in an instant. Even still, the words are heart melting. Something you need to hear so badly right in that moment, but just not from _him_.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to get back to work. You should leave,” you say. Your voice is already trembling.

Connor starts walking.

“…As you wish,” he murmurs.

The faint whiff of his scent is all that’s left after the RK800 prototype. You make sure the front door is locked and rush into the living room to close the curtains.

Twice now Connor has exhibited actions that _should_ make you doubt his integrity. It’s impossible to admit it out loud, but you wanted to take those chances he offered – even when you know they might not be intentionally made. The sly invitations to feel something you’ve been yearning for months now are difficult to resist and just thinking about them starts another irregular rhythm of heavy beats inside your ribcage.

_Why is Connor so goddamn interested in what’s going on between you and Gavin?_

You haven’t even revealed your real names to each other yet or talked in anything else but written form. You’re practically strangers flirting via chat messages. And here you thought you were starting to find some kind of connection with the badmouthed Detective.

You slump onto the floor under the living room’s large windows, back against the wall and bury your head into your arms, resting over your knees. The last few days have been long and mentally exhausting. Carl, Markus… and Liara… All those people you lost on such a short notice. The pain on the surface is sharp and brutal, but there is a deeper underlying agony that keeps pulling your heartstrings worse than anything.

Thinking about what you had with Connor, what you could’ve had or _still_ could, always pops into your head whenever you lay eyes on him. It’s eating you alive.

Maybe you should just give up and quit. Everything would become much easier.

You huff in self-pity.

The dam is starting to crack after the pool of emotions has finally gotten too deep. A couple of dry sobs get through before all the walls come crashing down and you desperately wish Connor is far enough to not hear your breakdown.


	12. Nov 3rd 09:36 AM

### November 3rd 09:36 AM

####  **Raid on CyberLife warehouse – police believe the suspects are deviants**

_Chiara Hale | Tuesday 2 November 22:35 | 235 shares_

A group of robbers broke into the CyberLife warehouse sometime in the evening today in Delray. The value of the stolen property is estimated at hundreds of thousands of dollars. One of the warehouse’s security guard androids also went missing during the events of the robbery.

The suspects are deviant androids or are affiliated with an organized group of deviants. The police are currently investigating the crime and would not comment until more details are discovered.

– We saw nothing out of the ordinary and then count the trucks to see one is missing, the security guards of the warehouse say.

– No one got hurt, but we could just be lucky.

The GPS tracking system of the stolen truck was disabled as soon as it left the property.

An increasing number of cases involving androids are reported to the DPD every day. Statistics show these android cases have notched up the overall crime rate of the city for over seven percent during the past six months.

**Read more on organized android crime**

**Could your android be a deviant?**

**7 Things your android does without your knowledge**

––

“ _Doctor, there’s a visitor for you._ ”

You rub your temples and stare at the communication device on the desk. The lobby secretary android is waiting for an answer. You’ll only need one wild guess to know who wants to meet you. As much as you enjoy admiring his beautiful features, right now his is the last face on Earth you wish to see.

You close the trashy article open on your work terminal and let out a silent sigh before pressing the button.

“I’m free now. Send them up.”

A quick elevator ride later, the brown-eyed android tilts his head slightly, hands resting on his sides and looking completely innocent. Something about predators and their prey crosses your mind, but the thought has to step aside for the basic instincts.

Fight or flight. On the previous day you had enough adrenaline in your system to stand your ground. Now you want to run. A rematch will be a sore loss for you.

“I came because I was worried about you,” Connor says matter-of-factly.

“Yes, you keep saying that but there is no need.”

You turn away to hide your puffy, reddened eyes. There is no universe in which Connor wouldn’t notice such obvious physical signals of distress.

A faint glimmer of hope shined from the news cast on the previous evening and you suspect that is one of the reasons why Connor comes to see you right after you practically threw him out of your home.

A truckload full of biocomponents and Thirium was reported stolen late on the previous night. It dried your tears instantly but the damage to your next day look was already done. You want to believe so much that Markus was behind it. Somehow you can feel it.

Connor waits for you to continue speaking. His sharp gaze is all over you, measuring and examining. Scenarios are running rampant inside his mind palace. The one he likes the most is the one where Detective Reed tells you to never contact him again. Seasoned with a couple of the Detective’s favorite swear words.

“Did you need something?” you ask in a rather unfriendly tone. You’re still not looking at the android.

Connor paces forward until he is standing right in front of your desk.

“How are you, Doctor?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

You pause before replying and try to reprogram yourself into a more friendly approach.

“Honestly? I still feel terrible about Liara but everything is fine. You don’t have to worry so much about me.”

The explanation is poor and weak but hopefully the reluctant aura your every cell is emitting is enough to make Connor leave as soon as possible.

“You know something, don’t you?” he utters quietly.

As morbid as it sounds, Connor wishes he could probe human memory or have any way of prying the answers out of you. Your pulse is faster than it should be. You’re avoiding his gaze and constantly trying to find something else to focus on. He _sees_ you’re lying when you convince him there is nothing wrong and he shouldn’t worry about you.

It makes Connor uncomfortable to confront you when you look so upset already, but he has to do it.

“Know something? Concerning… what?” you ask.

“My investigation,” he says patiently.

Call it a hunch or what you like, but to move the investigation forward, Connor has to take that gut feeling into consideration. In ones and zeroes it’s a mysterious clutter of unsolved symbols. It’s impossible to invent the formula without all the unknown factors, no matter how many simulations or operations he runs inside his mind palace.

And the image of Detective Reed courting you is still messing with his computations.

Would you talk to _him_? Connor wonders inside his mind palace, though he knows Reed has nothing to do with your avoiding replies.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you remark.

If only there was a way to summon an escape. Like a convenient fire alarm to force an emergency exit. The back of your neck is tingling unpleasantly and your pulse has kept growing ever since the android stepped into the room. You’re prey just waiting to be caught in the predator’s claws.

Connor fixates a look on you, trying to reach your gaze. A line appears between his brows when you only stare at the terminal on your desk as hard as you can. He waits a few moments before slowly planting his palms on your desk.

“Doctor, the truth is I don’t _need_ your permission to do my mission. I have the authority of the Detroit Police Department–”

You jump ahead of him. “Leave uncle Hank out of this.”

Connor frowns at the sight of your puffed eyes. “It’s the duty of us both to look after you.”

“I’m a grown up, I don’t _want_ you looking after me,” you say and avert your gaze again. _Why does he have to be so close?_

The words fall harshly inside the silent office. Connor’s frown deepens, his brows creep together again in confusion.

You look so fragile to him, like a sculpture of made of glass, about to fall down and break. No matter what logic dictates, what he _thinks_ you’re feeling, he can only come to the conclusion that trying to figure you out will only frustrate him. As the silence lingers, his thoughts wander. And he thinks about the glass statue metaphor that suddenly stops making sense.

He knows you’re _soft_. So soft compared to his exoskeleton that is designed to optimize speed and endurance. His softness is a changeable concept that depends on the target of comparison.

As for your fragility, he _knows_ that description doesn’t match your body either.

Connor finds himself not simulating breathing as his optic sensors wander over the enflamed skin on your cheeks. His mind palace is grasping at straws, definitely not making an effort to accomplish his mission.

Your eyes are glued to the terminal and every fiber of your being wishes Connor would leave you alone this instant. You can’t nor want to focus on work with him in the room. The datapad that is used for the weekly checkups is on the desk but you don’t really want to start questioning the android.

_Why can’t he just go?_

Connor compensates the pause in breathing with an uncharacteristic huff and straightens up.

“If something is going on, you have to tell me,” he pleads, “I want you to stay safe.”

“Will I be safe if you search my home again for _deviants_?” The ire you manage to load into the words makes Connor jolt. He hesitates, but only briefly.

“I know about the blue blood in the basket.”

The significance of the revelation takes several moments to sink in.

 _He knows._ You just lead yourself into the trap.

From the way Connor is scowling again, you realize you have turned to face him, eyes reddened but color drained from your complexion. His gaze inspects your features in silent analysis. You have to brush it off to survive.

“…Then why didn’t you report it in?” you ask in a small voice.

Connor’s eyes soften and he looks troubled.

“I… I don’t know. It was you and I shouldn’t have searched for it without your permission. I don’t want to cause trouble to you.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” you retort with a hint of desperation.

“I know I shouldn’t,” Connor snaps back.

A beat of silence falls. You’re just staring at each other, both equally reluctant to continue on the topic, but also knowing it has to be dealt with. You give in to the staring contest over the desk. The air is heavy with tension. Your heart is hammering like crazy, but at least you’re not showing it on the outside. Never mind that Connor can still hear it.

“Are you accusing me of something? Is that why you came to see me?” you finally ask.

“No, I simply wanted to talk.” Connor looks away, dejected.

Your whole body feels numb as you stare at the android. The desk between you could as well be a mile-high wall. The all too familiar feeling of him trying to say something you’re not prepared to understand creeps up your spine. It makes your heart wrench and it’s so unfair that _he_ doesn’t have to deal with it.

Your eyes start to burn and so you turn back to the terminal.

“Am I a suspect?” you ask as sternly as you’re able to.

Connor’s head snaps back up.

“Doctor, I don’t–”

“Because if not, I’d really like for you to leave.” You swallow, hands on the keynotes, but unable to continue writing from where you left off before Connor’s arrival.

“I need to understand what I witnessed at your house. I must explore every option – you know this,” Connor rationalizes and it’s impossible to deny his words.

You swallow. The need to get rid of the android pushes the rational side of your brain into a ditch.

“I… it was… it was just some Thirium on my work clothes. There was an accident in the testing sub-routine. I forgot to wash it earlier.”

“The incident is archived, I take it?” Connor asks.

You can’t even nod. It takes less than a second for him to find out there was no incident in the lab area for the past week during your in-hours. He doesn’t say anything.

Your voice shakes, when you next speak and you pray to all deities on Earth and above that Connor will let it go.

“Now if I’m clear from all charges, I have tons of work to do, so… I’ll see you next week for the inspection.”

An alarmingly long pause follows before Connor reacts to your words and the emotional distress in them. Meanwhile, his mind palace is buzzing, though nothing shows outside. Why would you lie to him? Are you speaking the truth? There must be a reason for your behavior and Connor can’t help but deduce that he is missing pieces in this puzzle that carries your name.

Again, he finds it bothers him more than it should.

Your fingertips are numb on the keyboard and after staring at the terminal monitor for so long, you can’t see anything already written on it. You’re already about to ask Connor to leave again when he makes a motion to turn and go.

“If there’s something you wish to discuss, you can call me anytime. Until then, I won’t bother you anymore. See you at the inspection, Doctor.”

And with that, the android sent by CyberLife is out of your door yet again while you swallow hot tears streaking down your cheeks.


End file.
